LrlBRARY 

OK  Tin: 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

OIKT    OK 

Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALS WORTH. 

Received  October,  1894. 
Accessions  No.ST.fp.jJ.  .....      Class  No. 


LIFE   LESSONS 


SCHOOL  OF  CHRISTIAN  DUTY. 


BY  E.  H.  GILLETT,  D.D., 

14 

AUTHOR  OP 

"THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  JOHN  HUSS,"  ETC. 


• 

«•    •     . 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRESBYTERIAN  PUBLICATION  COMMITTEE, 
*  1334  CHESTNUT  STREET, 

NEW  YORK:  A.  D.  F.  RANDOLPH,  770  BROADWAY. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 
ANSON   D.    F.    KANDOLPH, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


THE  aim  of  this  volume  is  practical  throughout.  It 
is  designed  to  conduct  the  mind  of  the  reader  on- 
ward from  a  state  of  religious  indifference  to  a  sober  con- 
templation of  the  objects  and  duties  of  life,  and  to  urge 
them  upon  the  heart  and  conscience.  Without  entering 
minutely  into  the  obligations  that  pertain  to  our  several 
relations  as  social  beings,  its  main  theme  is,  Life  and  its 
Duties.  Hence  its  title,  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Some  portions  of  the  volume  have  been  published  in 
different  forms,  and,  by  some  readers,  will  doubtless  be 
recognized.  They  have  here  been  restored  to  their  proper 
place  in  the  chapters  to  which  they  belong.  If  the  an- 
ticipations of  the  individual  at  whose  instance  the  work 
has  been  prepared  for  publication  shall  be  fulfilled  in  the 
useful  service  whieh  it  may  render  to  the  cause  of  Christ, 
the  author's  labor  will  be  more  than  requited. 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON  FAGtB 

I.— A  PICTURE  OP  HUMAN  LIFB 7 

II.— Two  TYPES  OF  HUMAN  LIFE 14 

III.— THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE 22 

IV.— THE  TRUE  DIGNITY  OF  LIFE 30 

V.— THE  COMPASS  OF  LIFE 87 

VI. — DUTY,  THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 44 

VII. — LIFE-SERVICE  DUE  TO  GOD 51 

VIII. — LIVING  FOR  OTHERS 57 

IX.— ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY 65 

X.— THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE 78 

XL — IGNORANCE  OF  THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE 85 

XII. — NEED  OF  REVELATION 93 

XIII.— THE  LAW  OF  NATURE f 106 

XIV.— THE  REVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE 112 

XV.— TERMS  OF  THE  LIFE  ETERNAL 124 

XVL— THE  FATAL  LACK 131 

XVII.— LIFE  FROM  THE  DEAD 137 

XVIII.— "THE  WONDERFUL" 144 

XIX.— THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE— WHAT  IT  IMPLIES 161 

XX.— THE  FIRST  AIM  OF  LIFE 168 

XXI.— THE  CONFLICT  OF  LIFE 175 

XXII.— LIFE  AN  EDUCATION 184 

XXIIL-CULTURE  OF  A   HOLY  LlFE. . .  191 


6  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  PAOT3 

XXIV.— THE  LIFE  FOUNDED  ON  CHRIST 199 

XXV.— THB  LIVING  TEMPLE 213 

XXVI.— LIVING  FOB  THE  UNSEEN 220 

t     XXVII. — THE  STANDARD  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE 234 

XXVIII.— THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR 244 

XXIX.— LIFE'S  TEARS  AND  HARVEST 254 

XXX.— WALKING  IN  THE  TRUTH 265 

XXXI.— CHARACTER 272 

XXXIL— SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE— ITS  SIGNIFICANCE 282 

XXXIII.— INFLUENCE , . _,  290 

XXXIV.— THE  TONGUE 305 

XXXV.— POWER  OF  EXAMPLE 319 

XXXVI.— POWER  AND  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  WEALTH 332 

XXXVII. — POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION  ;  OR,  ON  PITCHING  Ooi's  TENT  TO- 
WARD SODOM 346 

XXXVIII.— BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES. 363 

XXXIX.— VALUE  OF  TIME 381 

XL.— WASTE  OF  TIME 394 

XLL— THE  PSALM  OF  LIFE .,  . .  400 


LIFE    LESSONS. 


TJHITSI 

L 

A  PICTURE  OP  LII 

"  They  walk  on  in  darkness."  —  PSALM  Ixxxv.  5. 

IN  one  of  our  New  England  villages  is  a  graveyard  — 
in  most  respects  not  unlike  scores  of  others  —  in  which 
sleep  the  remains  of  hundreds,  and  perhaps  thousands, 
belonging  to  past  generations.  Many  a  moss-covered 
gravestone  is  there,  and  "  many  a  holy  text  "  is  sculptured 
on  those  monuments  which,  ever  sinking  deeper  in  the 
sod,  or  already  fallen  to  the  earth,  seem  themselves  to 
envy  the  oblivion  of  the  dust  they  cover,  and  by  their 
own  crumbling  and  decay,  as  well  as  their  inscriptions, 
"  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die," 

But  human  enterprise  has  for  many  years  been  busy, 
encroaching  upon  that  sacred  enclosure.  A  valuable 
quarry,  cropping  out  on  the  neighboring  bank,  offered 
that  temptation  which  to  the  industry  and  thrift  of  our 
countrymen  is  irresistible.  The  rock  was  quarried  and 
carried  away,  leaving  as  the  excavation  approached  the 
graveyard,  a  precipitous  wall  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet 
high.  Still  pressing  on,  the  laborers  cleared  the  rock 
away,  till  only  at  a  single  narrow  point  could  the  grave- 
yard be  approached,  and  at  last,  this  too  was  assaulted, 
threatening  to  change  the  peninsular  into  a  rock-walled 
island  of  the  dead. 


8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

What  a  spectacle  I  Human  enterprise  sweepingHround 
such  a  spot  as  that,  sparing  it  indeed,  but  leaving  it  iso- 
lated and  inaccessible,  chafing  against  it  as  a  barrier, 
and  shaking  the  sacred  dust  of  its  graves  with  the  shock 
of  its  explosions,  disturbing  the  hallowed  silence  appro- 
priate to  it,  by  the  echoes  of  rude  voices  and  the  din  of 
pick  and  chisel,  and  desecrating,  to  the  extremest  verge  of 
possibility,  the  scene  where  friendship  had  found  sad 
pleasure  to  linger,  and  affection  had  been  wont  to  weep ! 
From  morning  till  night,  human  industry  is  intensely  ac- 
tive, almost  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  monuments,  but  it 
has  itself  built  up  the  wall,  that  keeps  it,  although  so 
near,  from  all  contact  with  them,  or  any  chance  to  peruse 
the  stone-graven  lines  that  speak  the  solemn  lessons  of  the 
grave.  Unheeding  toil  takes  no  thought  of  the  voices 
that  seem  flung  back  to  it,  in  every  echo  of  its  blows, 
from  those  rocky  walls  within  which  the  dust  of  the  dead 
finds  repose. 

Who  can  regard  such  a  spectacle  without  feeling  that 
it  is  emblematic — that  a  painter,  turning  from  the  picture 
of  Cole's  "  Voyage  of  Life,"  might  have  been  warranted 
in  selecting  this  as  the  picture  of  life  itself — its  energy, 
activity,  and  enterprise,  rolling  on  like  a  torrent,  till  it 
touches  the  realm  of  the  dead,  then  pausing  only  to  cir- 
cle around  it,  and  sweep  away  every  approach,  every 
foot-path  by  which  human  thought  draws  near  to  medi- 
tate on  human  destiny,  or  by  which  the  toiling  laborer 
himself  might  mount  up  to  read  the  lessons  of  his  own 
mortality  ? 

It  is  a  sad  truth,  that  the  industry  and  energy  of  man 
too  often  work  just  to  wall  him  out  from  ready  access  to 
the  sphere  of  serious  thought  and  religious  meditation. 
He  digs  and  mines  and  excavates,  only  to  rear  higher  and 


A  PICTURE  OF  LIFE.  9 

render  more  insuperable  the  barriers  that  shut  him  out 
from  converse  with  his  higher  interests  or  communion 
with  his  God.  There  he  is — his  life  long — un<|er  the 
very  shadow  of  graves  and  monuments,  the  dust  of  the 
departed  crumbling  around  him,  as  it  shakes  with  the 
stroke  of  enterprise  encroaching  on  its  domain  ;  and  yet 
every  hour,  as  he  plunges  deeper  for  new  treasures,  he  is 
but  building  higher  that  precipitous  wall  which  shuts 
him  out  from  access  to  what  is  so  near,  and  casts  ever 
deeper  and  darker  shadows  over  his  scene  of  toil.  Thus 
he  forgets  where  he  is  ;  he  forgets  what  he  is.  He  heeds 
not  that  soon  the  waves  of  enterprise  will  roll  and  chafe 
around  his  own  grave. 

If  there  is  anything  that  may  well  occasion  surprise 
it  is  the  thoughtlessness  of  dying  men — their  thoughtless- 
ness with  regard  to  their  spiritual  and  eternal  interests. 
They  traverse  seas.  They  explore  continents.  They 
pry  into  ^he  secrets  of  the  wilderness.  They  climb  the 
snow-capped  mountains.  They  mark  the  transit  of  dis- 
tant planets.  They  unroll  antique  parchments  and  pore 
over  moth-eaten  volumes.  They  excavate  buried  cities 
like  Nineveh  and  Pompeii.  They  decipher  old  inscrip- 
tions and  scrutinize  Egyptian  hieroglyphs.  They  study 
the  fossil  autographs  of  dead  ages,  on  the  rocky  pages  of 
the  earth,  till  the  globe  becomes  their  library,  and  cata- 
racts and  currents  cut  the  leaves  of  long  sealed  volumes 
that  they  may  be  read.  They  question  the  microscope 
for  the  minute  wonders  of  creative  skill  in  the  structure 
of  a  sand  grain,  an  animalcule,  or  a  snow-flake.  They 
dissolve  air  and  water  into  their  original  elements,  and 
unfold  the  laws  that  govern  the  combination  of  these  ele- 
ments. They  track  the  lightning  to  its  lair,  tame  it  and 
teach  it,  charged  with  messages,  to  leap  along  their  iron 
1* 


10  LIFE  LESSONS. 

wires.  They  penetrate  the  invisible  realm  of  mind, 
search  out  its  constitution,  the  order  of  its  faculties,  the 
methods  of  their  operation,  the  laws  by  which  they  are 
governed.  They  give  wing  to  fancy  and  revel  in  the 
strange,  weird  domain  of  imaginary  existence,  surrender- 
ing their  being  almost  to  the  spell  of  fiction  and  romance, 
and  yet — while  the  mind  is  thus  roused  to  intense  activ- 
ity, while  the  waves  of  the  sea  of  human  thought  roll  on 
and  cover  almost  every  thing  tangible  or  conceivable — 
the  one  great  theme  which  towers  above  others  like  the 
Alps  above  their  valleys,  is  left,  like  a  mountain  island 
of  the  ocean,  neglected  and  unexplored.  Men  are  intent 
to  study  the  world  around,  but  not  the  world  within  them. 
They  read  the  doorijbf  nations  and  forget  their  own. 
They  decipher  old  crumbling  monuments  of  stone,  but 
translate  not  the  inscriptions  on  the  living  tablets  of  the 
heart.  They  linger  spell-bound  over  the  poet's  page. 
They  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  philosopher.  They^  listen  to 
the  sagacity  of  statesmen.  They  are  kindled  to  enthusi- 
asm by  the  creations  of  the  artist,  or  by  the  magnificent 
span  of  cathedral  domes,  and  yet  when  a  "  greater  than 
the  temple,"  a  "  greater  than  Solomon/7  he  that  "  spake 
as  never  man  spake,"  opens  his  lips  to  reveal  the  secrets, 
of  the  life  eternal,  they  turn  away,  with  stolid  indiffer- 
ence or  cold  contempt. 

Can  this  be  so  ?  Can  it  be  that  man  can  so  regard  all 
things  else,  and  forget  himself?  Can  it  be  that  the  one 
subject  of  thought,  which  to  him  is  most  important,  most 
yital,  which  transcends  every  other,  which  confronts  him 
perpetually  wherever  he  turns,  that  is  suggested  in  all 
the  forms  of  nature,  the  buried  seed,  the  fading  flower, 
the  ripening  harvest — that  is  whispered  in  all  the  seasons, 
in  the  springtime  that  bids  him  sow  the  seed,  in  the  sum- 


A  PICTURE  OF  LIFE.  1 1 

raer  that  shows  him  a  thousand  symbols  of  that  higher 
beauty  which  the  soul  may  win,  in  the  autumn  with  its 
harvests,  asking  him  what  from  all  his  years  angel  reap- 
ers shall  gather,  in  the  winter  that  speaks  of  age  that 
will  need  a  shelter  and  support  which  nature  cannot  give 
— can  it  be  that  this  one  subject  thus  suggested,  and  sug- 
gested ever  also  by  his  own  experience,  by  the  cravings 
of  the  soul,  by  the  aspirations  of  hope,  by  irrepressible 
longings  for  immortality,  nay,  by  his  failing  strength  and 
tear-dimmed  eye,  by  the  badges  of  mourning,  the  funeral 
procession,  the  graveyard  mound,  the  dull  echo  of  the 
clods  as  they  strike  the  coffin  lid — can  it  be  that  this  one 
subject  of  his  own  personal  spiritual  destiny  thus  pressed 
on  his  notice,  thus  whispered  in  every  breath,  thus  pho- 
tographed in  every  scene,  is  just  the  one  of  all  others 
which  he  banishes  from  his  thoughts,  and  which  for  him 
is  left  to  stand  amid  the  surging  ocean-waves  of  human 
activity  precipitous  and  inaccessible  like  the  island  of  the 
dead  ?  It  is  a  humiliating  question  to  answer,  but  it  is 
not  a  difficult  one.  The  answer  is  before  us,  in  what  we 
see  and  hear  and  feel.  That  which  justly  claims  human 
attention  first,  is  neglected  till  the  last.  How  it  must  be 
thrust  upon  men  before  they  will  entertain  it !  How  it 
comes  knocking  at  the  door,  and  is  left  unheeded !  How 
it  speaks  but  gains  no  reply !  How  men  turn  their  back 
upon  it,  and  haste  away,  one  to  his  farm  and  another  to 
his  merchandise !  How  thorough  is  their  practical  obliv- 
ion of  their  spiritual  destiny!  Sabbath  after  Sabbath 
traces  solemn  words  on  the  memory,  but  the  first  ripple 
of  week-day  traffic  rolls  over  them  and  shows  that  they 
have  been  traced  on  the  sand. 

What  a  wondrous  art  of  forgetfulness !     What  a  per- 
fection of  heedlessness !     There,  right  before  them,  like 


12  LIFE  LESSONS. 

the  Alps  to  the  traveler's  eye,  looms  up  this  great  theme, 
in  a  grandeur  and  magnificence  which  pour  contempt  on 
all  the  little  toys  and  vanities  that  rivet  their  gaze,  and 
their  busy  ceaseless  activity  only  clouds  them  about  with 
dust,  till  they  stand  all  unconscious  beneath  the  awful 
shadow  that  comes  down  over  them  from  those  sublime 
heights  to  which  thought  should  soar.  Thus  they  often 
live,  and  thus,  often  too,  they  die.  The  voice  that  admon- 
ishes them  to  better  things,  is  as  the  voice  of  one  crying 
unheeded  in  the  wilderness.  Friends  by  their  side  drop 
away  and  disappear,  but  no  earnest  questioning  peers 
into  the  nature  of  that  unseen  world  that  is  brought  so 
near.  Their  houses  crumble  over  their  heads  and  need 
constant  repair,  but  they  seek  no  title  to  "  a  house  not 
made  with  hands  eternal  in  the  heavens."  They  are  all 
absorbed  in  the  petty  losses  and  gains  of  business,  and 
seek  not  to  lay  up  treasures  where  moth  and  rust  cannot 
corrupt. 

See  them  in  varied  spheres  pursuing  various  objects, 
and  only  agreed  in  rejecting  one,  persistently  pressed  on 
their  notice !  There  they  are,  poring  over  the  ledger. 
There  they  are,  bending  intent  over  "the  chequered 
board  ;"  they  have  come  back  from  a  friend's  grave,  per- 
haps, to  renew  their  game.  The  Sabbath  comes — that 
hallowed  day  which  seems  the  golden  link  between  earth 
and  that  better  land  of  the  eternal  Sabbath,  yet  how  its 
hours  drag,  and  how  amusements  crowd  out  devotion, 
and  how  the  sanctuary,  visited  possibly  once,  is  thence- 
forth shunned  !  It  would  seem  as  if  religion  was  as  repul- 
sive as  a  heathen  Dagon — as  if  the  light  which  it  kindles 
and  flings  in  loving  missionary  beams  of  mercy  along  the 
pilgrim's  way  deep  into  the  shadows  of  the  dark  valley, 
was  unwelcome — as  if  the  language  in  which  it  speake 


A  PICTURE  OF  LIFE.  13 

of  "  the  glory  to  be  revealed  in  us,"  was  that  of  unmean- 
ing speculation — as  if  the  best  thing  for  a  man,  a  possi- 
ble heir  of  immortal  blessedness,  was  to  keep  himself  as 
unconcerned  and  indifferent  within  the  cheerless  walls  of 
his  earthly  prison-house,  as  the  worms  that  crawl  around 
him,  or  the  spiders  that  spin  their  webs  to  curtain  the 
barred  windows  of  his  ceil.  Is  this  wise  ?  Is  it  rational  ? 
Is  it  becoming  ?  Is  it  the  part  which  he  should  act  who 
knows,  beyond  all  shadow  of  doubt,  that  soon  his  work 
on  earth  will  be  done,  and  the  seed-time  of  the  life  immor- 
tal will  have  forever  fled  ?  Should  he  give  thought  free 
range  on  all  other  topics,  but  forbid  it  to  touch  the  one 
of  most  momentous  concern  ?  Should  the  mind  soar  in 
every  other  sphere,  but  crawl  only  when  it  enters  the 
sphere  of  spiritual  truth  and  religious  duty?  Should 
years  be  piled  on  years  in  order  to  climb  and  grasp  a 
wreath  or  fortune  that  ere  long  will  slip  like  sand  from 
the  cheated  fingers,  and  only  the  scattered  dust  and  frag- 
ments of  time  be  left  for  the  foundations  of  the  life  ever- 
lasting ? 

Each  one  must  answer  these  questions  for  himself. 
Each  one  knows  how  he  has  lived,  and  whether  the  guilt 
of  inconsiderateness  can  be  laid  to  his  charge.  You  can 
look  back  and  scrutinize  what  has  secured  your  attention. 
You  can  see  the  current  and  direction  of  your  thoughts 
and  the  channels  they  have  traced.  Have  they  been  such 
as  your  calm  judgment  approves  ?  Are  you  satisfied,  if 
the  claims  of  religion  have  been  uniformly  and  persis- 
tently neglected?  Do  you  justify  such  neglect,  or  do 
you  condemn  yourself?  Do  you  class  yourself  with  the 
brute  or  with  the  man,  with  the  unreflecting  or  the 
thoughtful  ?  Do  you  count  your  final  destiny  a  matter 
of  no  account,  or  one  of  infinite  moment  ? 


II. 


TWO  TYPES  OP  LIFE. 

u  Better  is  it  to  be  of  an  humble  spirit  with  the  lowly,  than  to  divide  the 
spoil  with  the  proud."— PROV.  xvi.  19. 

OP  that  great  Eoman  Emperor,  Augustus  Csesar,  it 
is  related  that  on  the  morning  of  his  death,  sensible 
of  his  approaching  end,  he  called  for  a  mirror,  and  de- 
sired his  gray  hairs  and  beard  to  be  decently  arranged. 
Then  asking  of  his  friends  whether  he  had  played  well 
his  part  in  the  drama  of  life,  he  muttered  a  verse  from 
a  comic  epilogue,  inviting  them  to  greet  his  last  exit 
with  applause. 

Perhaps  the  world  had  never  seen  a  greater  ruler  die. 
The  Roman  Empire,  excluding  the  more  barbarous  na- 
tions, was  the  empire  of  the  world.  With  some  peculiar 
advantages,  yet  with  art  and  arms,  Augustus  had  grasped 
it  and  ruled  it,  and  made  it  his  own.  He  had  acted  an 
imposing  part  in  the  great  drama  of  history.  He  had 
reached  the  highest  point  of  mere  earthly  ambition.  He 
had  been  neither  a  debauchee  nor  a  tyrant.  One  might 
have  said  of  him,  that  nothing  that  this  world  could  give 
was  wanting  to  render  his  lot  enviable.  Yet  who  does 
not  gaze  in  pity  on  that — an  emperor's  deathbed  ?  Who 
does  not  feel  a  painful  contrast  between  his  last  hours, 
as  he  gazes  at  his  gray  locks  in  the  mirror,  and  talks  of 
having  played  his  part  well  in  the  drama  of  life,  and  the 
exultant  triumph  of  "  such  an  one  as  Paul  the  aged," 


TWO  TYPES  OF  LIFE.  15 

writing  with  manacled  hand  from  his  chill  prison,  on  the 
eve  of  martyrdom — "  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have 
finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith.  Henceforth 
there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteousness  ?  "  One 
seems  to  be  thinking  of  the  applause  of  men.  He  wants 
the  voice  of  praise  and  flattery  to  cheer  his  dying  hour. 
The  other  is  looking  forward  not  to  the  praise  of  man, 
but  to  the  "  well  done  "  of  the  great  Judge.  One  feels 
that  his  jeweled  crown  will  no  longer  cover  that  gray 
head,  ripe  for  the  sickle  of  the  great  Reaper.  The  other 
is  assured  of  an  everlasting  crown,  such  as  senates  can- 
not grant,  nor  death  take  away.  One  looks  back  on  a 
life  of  successful,  but  selfish  ambition.  The  other  has 
the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience  that  he  has  lived  to 
serve  God.  One  has  climbed  the  heights  of  power  and 
surrounded  himself  with  the  pageants  of  wealth  and 
feasts  and  splendor,  only  to  die  like  a  play-actor.  The 
other  has  deliberately  chosen  a  path  which,  through 
mobs,  and  prisons,  and  scorn,  and  hardships  unnumbered, 
leads  him  to  a  martyr's  death,  but  a  martyr's  triumph. 
Both  wrought  with  rare  ability  and  rare  energy.  Both 
exerted  a  powerful  influence  on  the  history  of  the  world. 
Each  in  a  measure  attained  his  end.  But  in  the  final 
result  the  sceptered  hand  grasped  a  bubble,  and  the 
manacled  hand  grasped  a  crown. 

It  might  seem  a  vain  question — which  of  these  men  is 
most  to  be  envied,  for  no  one  of  us  could  by  any  possi- 
bility be  the  one  or  the  other.  Only  one  in  all  the  mil- 
lions of  the  ancient  world  could  have  been  an  Augustus. 
Only  a  few  could  have  been  like  Paul.  Each  of  us  has 
limitations,  not  of  our  own  choice  or  appointment,  affixed 
to  his  lot.  But  taking  the  two  men  as  types  of  classes — 
the  successful  man  of  the  world  and  the  self-denying 


16  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Christian,  the  one  who  lives  to  be  applauded  and  dies 
thinking  what  men  will  say  of  him,  and  the  one  who  is 
content  to  forego  all  if  he  may  but  have  the  testimony 
of  a  good  conscience  and  the  smile  of  God,  and  we  can  4 
say  for  ourselves  which  is  to  be  preferred.  There  is  a 
vast  difference.  It  is  plain  to  every  one.  In  show  and 
parade  they  are  quite  unlike,  but  if  one  glitters  like  isin- 
glass in  the  noonday  of  its  own  splendor,  the  other  is  no 
less  a  jewel  though  you  have  to  mine  for  it  in  prisons,  or 
wash  off  from  it  the  mud  of  slander  and  contempt. 

There  are  some  men  who  seern  to  have  no  ambition  to 
be  the  one  thing  or  the  other.  They  live  extempore. 
They  have  very  little  of  plan  or  purpose.  They  play 
truant  for  seventy  years,  and  never  learn  the  first  lesson 
of  shaping  life.  They  are  like  straws  floating  with  the 
stream.  The  friendships  they  form,  and  the  circumstan- 
ces in  which  they  are  placed  mould  them  like  wax. 
They  have  no  more  moral  shape  or  stability  than  water 
poured  into  the  hollow  of  a  rock.  They  do  not  really 
live ;  they  just  stagnate.  Their  hope  is  ease ;  their 
dread,  work  or  starvation.  They  are  candidates  for 
temptation  and  crime,  and  if  saved  from  these,  it  is  to 
sink  into  moral  cyphers.  They  are  men  who  think  little, 
and  who  dream  life  away  in  a  dull  routine.  Ingenuity 
itself  would  be  taxed  to  put  anything  but  their  names  on 
their  gravestone.  The  biographer  would  only  be  able 
to  write  of  them,  they  were  born,  they  ate,  they  drank, 
they  fell  sick  and  died.  No  high  purpose  roused  their 
energies.  No  noble  or  generous  aim  broke  the  even  tenor 
of  their  selfishness.  In  the  harvest-field  of  life,  they  are 
stalks  that  never  headed.  Morally  considered,  they  are 
mere  chaff  and  stubble. 

Does  this  seem  like  caricature  or  irony?    It  is  the 


TWO  TYPES  OF  LIFE.  ,7 

simple  truth.  There  arc  men  who  have  no  more  idea  ap- 
parently of  shaping  their  lives  by  any  recognized  stand- 
ard than  the  ox  that  ploughs  in  the  furrow.  But  is  not 
this  a  crime  against  reason  ?  Is  it  not  a  criminal  stu- 
pidity for  any  one  capable  of  reflection  to  find  himself  in 
a  world  like  this,  arid  never  ask — what  am  I  here  for  ? 
Does  it  not  become  him  as  he  opens  Ids  eyes  thoughtfully 
to  the  light  of  this  world,  to  consider  with  himself  that 
he  is  here  for  some  purpose  worthy  of  the  powers  with 
which  he  is  endowed,  and  the  privileges  with  which  he 
is  favored  ?  Everything  is  valuable  for  what  you  can 
make  out  of  it,  or  what  you  can  do  with  it.  So  it  is  with 
human  life,  and  there  is  nothing  else  that  can  be  made 
either  so  worthless  or  so  precious.  You  may  cut  the 
ivory  into  beautiful  shapes.  You  may  mint  the  gold  into 
shining  coin.  You  may  chisel  the  marble  till  it  seems  to 
embody  the  grandest  ideal  of  the  majesty  of  intellect. 
You  may  polish  the  rough-looking  stone  till  it  glitters  as 
a  jewel  fit  for  the  brow  of  beauty,  or  the  kingly  crown. 
You  may  subject  the  tangled,  rocky  waste  to  culture,  till 
it  becomes  a  Central  Park  ;  but  neither  ivory,  nor  gold, 
nor  marble,  nor  fertile  soil,  nor  diamonds  of  the  mine 
have  such  a  native  capacity  as  these  years  of  life.  Char- 
ity can  cut  them  into  shapes  as  beautiful  as  the  ministry 
of  a  Howard,  or  the  pity  of  the  Good  Samaritan.  Faith 
can  mint  them  into  deeds  of  piety  and  devotion,  bearing 
the  image  and  superscription  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Self- 
denial  may  chisel  them  into  the  statues  of  goodness  rising 
to  the  stature  of  a  perfect  manhood  in  Christ  Jesus.  In- 
tegrity and  fidelity  to  duty  can  make  them  resplendent 
with  a  loveliness,  and  precious  with  a  value  that  belong 
not  to  even  a  Koh-i-Noor  jewel,  while  he  that  cultivates 
them  in  the  fear  of  God  can  turn  the  soil  once  covered 


!g  LIFE  LESSONS. 

with  the  weeds  of  vice  and  the  brambles  of  sin,  and  the 
rocks  of  depravity,  into  an  earthly  Eden,  in  which  the 
music  of  a  conscience  void  of  offense  will  chase  all  care 
and  fear  away,  and  over  which  angels  will  delight  to, 
linger  and  to  gaze. 

It  is  indeed  a  surprising  thing  to  think  of  what  the 
humblest  life  is  capable.  It  does  not  need  a  throne  for 
its  pedestal.  Its  real  value  does  not  depend  on  its  being 
conspicuously  exhibited.  The  little  flower  that  blooms 
in  the  wilderness  is  as  exquisitely  delicate  and  fragrant 
as  if  transplanted  to  royal  gardens.  The  solitary  trav- 
eller— some  Mungo  Park  perhaps — alone  is  cheered  by  it, 
but  the  gaze  and  admiration  of  thousands  would  not  add 
to  it  a  single  grace.  So  it  is  with  the  moral  beauty  of 
lowly  life.  Its  value  is  in  itself,  not  in  being  the  centre 
of  some  elegant  nosegay.  To  be  is  more  than  to  seem. 
The  great  good  man  wants  no  echoes  of  mob  applause. 
God's  eye  can  supply  the  place  of  admiring  crowds. 
You  might  put  some  Robinson  Crusoe  on  a  lone  island 
of  the  sea,  but  even  there,  if  his  heart  glows  with  love  to 
God,  and  he  learns  submission  to  his  lot,  and  soars  on 
the  wings  of  faith  to  the  heights  of  holy  thought  and  di- 
vine communings,  how  under  the  good  man's  tread,  the 
lone  isle  becomes  a  Patmos,  and  his  own  heart  a  living 
temple,  and  his  devout  meditations  the  lofty  worship  of 
sanctuary  service. 

Go  into  the  obscurest  walks  of  life  ;  leave  senates  and 
pageants  and  the  echoes  of  fame  far  behind,  and  see  what 
the  most  unpretending  can  do  in  works  that  cheer  the 
sufferer,  that  strengthen,  the  tempted,  that  minister  the 
oil  of  sympathy  to  bleeding  hearts,  that  whisper  hope  to 
the  despairing — and  whose  spirit,  in  the  fragrance  of 
goodness  is  as  "  ointment  poured  forth."  See  that  cheer- 


TWO  TYPES  OF  LIFE.  19 

ful  self-denial  that  reminds  one  of  the  two  mites  of  the 
poor  widow — that  unswerving  attachment  to  all  the 
friends  of  Christ  that  recalls  to  mind  the  Moabitess  of 
old  exclaiming,  "  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God," — that  gentleness  and  meekness  and  char- 
ity that  calm  the  turbulence  of  passion,  like  oil  poured 
on  the  troubled  waves — that  tenderness  of  conscience 
which  seems  to  hallow  all  around  it,  like  "  the  burning 
bush,"  so  that  no  sandaled  foot  may  tread  upon  it — that 
unwearied  prayerfulness  which  sanctifies  every  duty  and 
transforms  it  into  an  angel  service — that  patience  and 
submission  which  are  the  loftiest  heroism,  and  which 
without  a  murmur  exclaim,  "  not  my  will,  but  thine  be 
done," — that  kindly  beneficence  which,  radiant  as  the 
morning's  light,  carries  hope  and  smiles  to  the  home  of 
sorrow,  and  that  sublime  faith  which  has  power  to  change 
the  shanty,  the  garret,  or  even  the  prison  cell  into  a 
Bethel,  and  bring  down  all  around  them  such  a  hallowed 
presence  that  angels  seem  to  hover  there,  and  unceiled 
rafters  or  damp  walls  seem  to  echo  the  voice  of  the  mas- 
ter— "  my  peace  I  give  unto  you." 

Here  are  attainments  within  the  reach  of  all  who  are 
willing  to  walk  by  faith.  Here  is  a  success  that  is  within 
your  grasp,  which  no  calamity  can  foil.  I  would  not  say, 

"  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  may  make  our  lives  sublime." 

I  would  put  good  in  place  of  great.  You  do  not  want  an 
emperor's  chances,  or  a  Paul's  chances.  You  do  not 
need  purse  or  scrip,  a  scholar's  lore,  or  an  orator's  elo- 
quence. You  have  now  all  that  is  essential ;  you  would 
have  if  you  were  only  a  poor  Lazarus  at  the  rich  man's 
gate. 


20  LIFK  LESSONS. 

What  then,  with  the  help  of  God  always,  will  you 
make  of  your  own  life  ?  What  standard  will  you  set  up, 
what  plan,  what  model  will  you  adopt  ?  Will  you  say 
it  is  not  worth  caring  for  ?  It  is  mere  rubbish,  seaweed,* 
vapor.  True  it  is  brief,  transient.  It  fleets  with  every 
moment.  But  this  only  admonishes  you  to  snatch  the 
passing  hour,  to  work  while  it  is  day.  But  it  is  a  grand 
mistake  to  say  it  is  valueless.  There  is  nothing  else  on 
earth  more  precious.  The  man  that  built  great  Babylon 
accomplished  less  for  himself  than  the  man  who  by  God's 
grace  is  built  up  on  the  foundation  of  Jesus  Christ  into  a 
living  temple.  The  time  will  soon  come  when  the  rich 
must  leave  all  their  possessions,  and  the  king  must  lay 
down  a  sceptre  which  his  dying  grasp  can  hold  no  longer. 
Then  the  only  treasure  of  the  soul  will  be  found  in  itself. 
All  else,  however  inviting  once,  will  be  only  like  the  blos- 
soms that  fall  off  when  the  fruit  ripens.  We  shall  have 
only  what  we  are.  What  we  have  made  of  our  life  will 
be  all  that  we  can  carry  with  us  out  of  this  world  up  to 
the  judgment  seat.  An  emperor,  breathing  his  last, 
comes  down  to  the  common  level  of  mortals.  The  test 
of  success  will  be  what  survives  our  dust. 

And  that  which  is  most  precious  does  survive.  And 
what  is  it  ?  The  results,  the  harvest,  for  good  or  evil, 
for  weal  or  woe,  of  these  fleeting  years.  What  shall 
these  be  ?  They  are  your  inventory  for  eternity.  They 
are  your  portion  forever,  to  rejoice  in  or  regret.  What 
they  shall  be,  you  are  determining  now,  you  are  deter- 
mining even  while  you  hesitate  to  determine.  The  artist 
who  has  a  block  of  marble  put  into  his  hands  that  he 
may  shape  out  of  it  a  ISTimrod  or  an  Angel,  may  defer  to 
do  anything,  till  to  him,  though  he  shapes  no  Nimrod 
out  of  it,  the  block  is  worthless.  So,  only  worse,  it  may 


TWO  TYPES  OF  LIFE.  21 

be  with  you.  For  the  block  is  crumbling.  Every  mo- 
ment chips  off  a  minute  fragment,  and  already  perhaps 
its  integrity  is  gone.  It  is  time  to  determine  between 
the  Nimrod  and  the  Angel,  the  Emperor  and  the  Apostle. 
Yours  is  a  solemn  trust,  a  fearful  responsibility.  The 
burden  is  upon  you  and  you  cannot  lay  it  off.  An  "  in- 
heritance incorruptible  "  is  staked  upon  the  issue.  Just 
to  live  involves  the  necessity  of  accepting  or  rejecting  it? 
Shall  it  be  yours  ?  This  is  the  momentous  question  which 
you  are  to  answer  for  yourself.  The  issue  cannot  be 
evaded.  It  must  be  met.  Will  you  not  meet  it  man- 
fully, fairly,  intelligently?  Your  welfare  demands  it. 
Your  reason  demands  it.  Your  conscience  demands  it. 
Your  Maker  and  your  Final  Judge  demand  it. 


III. 

THE  VANITY  OP  LIFE. 

"  Vanity  of  vanities." — EC.  ii.  1. 

WITHOUT  the  Christian  hope,  and  the  truth  upon 
which  it  is  based,  what  is  this  world  but  empti- 
ness and  vanity?  Grand  processions,  mighty  armies,  the 
trains  of  enterprise  and  caravans  of  commerce  sweep 
over  it,  but  they  flit  by  and  vanish  like  shadows.  Great 
men  arise,  and  their  names  are  borne  on  the  echoes  of 
fame  around  the  globe  ;  but  when  the  bubble  of  their 
greatness  bursts,  and  the  current  of  time  rolls  on,  nothing 
is  left  but  a  transient  and  vanishing  memory.  There  is 
a  magnificent  dirge-like  music  in  that  passage  in  which 
Jeremy  Taylor  describes  the  humiliating  end  of  earthly 
hopes : 

"  Many  men,  by  great  labors  and  affronts,  many  indig- 
nities and  crimes,  labor  only  for  a  pompous  epitaph,  and 
a  loud  title  upon  their  marble  ;  whilst  those,  into  whose 
possessions  their  heirs  or  kindred  are  entered,  are  for- 
gotten, and  lie  unregarded  as  their  ashes,  and  without 
concernment  and  relation  as  the  turf  on  the  face  of  their 
grave.  A  man  may  read  a  sermon,  the  best  and  most 
passionate  that  ever  man  preached,  if  he  shall  but  enter 
into  the  sepulchres  of  kings.  In  the  same  Escurial  where 
the  Spanish  princes  live  in  greatness  and  power,  and 
decree  war  or  peace,  they  have  wisely  placed  a  cemetery, 
where  their  ashes  and  their  glory  shall  sleep  till  time 


THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE.  23 

shall  be  no  more.  And  where  our  kings  have  been 
crowned,  their  ancestors  lie  interred,  and  they  must  walk 
over  their  grand-sire's  head  to  take  his  crown.  There 
is  an  acre  sown  with  royal  seed,  the  copy  of  the  greatest 
change,  from  rich  to  naked,  from  ceiled  roofs  to  arched 
coffins,  from  living  like  gods  to  die  like  men." 

You  do  not  need  to  look  up  to  the  heavens  in  their 
magnificent  array  of  revolving  worlds  to  be  prompted  to 
ask,  "  Lord,  what  is  man?"  you  may  just  look  around  you 
and  see  the  various  living  forms  that  are  flitting  to  dark- 
ness and  oblivion,  or  you  may  look  beneath  your  feet  at 
the  earth  already  furrowed  by  graves,  yet  ever  opening 
to  take  new  treasures  of  affection  to  its  cold  bosom ;  and 
even  then  it  will  be  difficult  to  repress  the  thought 
suggested  by  the  exclamation  of  Edmund  Burke,  speak- 
ing of  the  sudden  departure  of  his  compeers  and  rivals, 
"  What  shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue!" 

"  We  turn  to  dust,  and  all  our  mightiest  works 
Die  too.     The  deep  foundations  that  we  lay — 
Time  ploughs  them  up,  and  not  a  trace  remains. 
We  build  on  what  we  deem  eternal  rock, 
A  future  age  asks  where  the  fabric  stood, 
And  in  the  dust,  sifted  and  searched  in  vain, 
The  undiscoverable  secret  sleeps." 

What  thoughtful  mind  can  fail  to  be  impressed  by  the 
lesson  of  human  frailty  that  seerns  traced  out  before  our 
eyes  wherever  we  turn  ?  Think  of  Nineveh's  glory,  and 
all  the  splendor  of  Assyrian  kings,  and  then  think  of  a 
Layard  excavating  the  crumbling  marbles  on  which 
Assyrian  victories  were  inscribed.  Think  of  Tyre,  once 
mistress  of  the  seas,  whose  merchants  were  princes,  and 
then  see  the  fisherman  spread  his  nets  on  the  rocks  half 


24  LIFE  LESSONS. 

covered  by  the  rubbish  of  her  palaces  I  Think  of  Egyp- 
tian pyramids,  the  tombs  of  kings,  and  the  rock-hewn 
vaults  where  the  embalmed  bodies  of  princes  were  laid, 
and  then  see  the  Arab  strip  them  of  their  cerements  to 
light  his  fire  and  cook  his  scanty  meal !  Walk  over  the  ' 
great  battlefields — a  Waterloo,  an  Antietam,  a  Gettys- 
burg— where  beneath  the  green  turf,  with  no  memorial, 
unless  perhaps  a  mound,  the  remains  of  thousands  are 
sinking  back  to  the  decay  that  mingles  them  with  their 
kindred  dust,  and  who  can  withhold  the  exclamation, 
"  Lord  what  is  man !"  All  nature  sympathizes  with  these 
sad  objects.  The  withered  leaf  of  autumn  rustles  upon' 
the  listening  ear  parables  of  human  decay.  The  flowing 
stream  floats  onward,  and  away  forever  the  foam  that 
once  sparkled  in  bubbles  brilliant  as  the  hues  of  youthful 
hope.  Setting  suns  are  daily  recurring  emblems,  and 
the  shadows  of  night  foreshadow  the  night  of  the  grave. 
Who  can  look  at  the  lonely  monument  that  affection 
rears,  and  see  it  standing  clear,  and  cold,  and  solitary, 
only  now  and  then  visited  by  the  curious  wanderer,  who 
reads  its  inscription  with  little  more  emotion  than  a  name 
on  a  box  of  merchandise,  and  not  feel  the  force  of  those 
lines  of  Gray's  elegy  : 

"  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inexorable  hour, 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 

What  are  all  biographies,  but  more  extended  funeral 
inscriptions — what  is  history  but  the  graveyard  of  past 
activity  in  which  philosophy  loves  to  muse  ?  And  what 
is  all  our  learning,  but  threads  which  we  spin  off  from 


THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE.  2$ 

the  cocoons  of  dead  men's  thoughts  which  they  wove 
around  them  with  life-long  toil,  as  the  shrouds  of  their 
own  mortality  ? 

Surely,  it  is  not  mere  fancy  which  reads  parables,  and 
more  than  parables  in  the  life  and  the  end  of  those 
who  command  the  world's  language.  One  after  another 
rises  and  moves  along  before  us  on  the  stage  of  human 
action,  but  each,  as  he  goes  down  amid  the  shadows  of 
age,  moralizes  on  the  emptiness  of  the  pageant  in  which 
he  has  played  his  part.  I  cannot  envy  the  feelings  or 
disposition  of  the  man  who  sees  without  emotion  the 
change  that  soon  passes  over  all  human  greatness — a 
Newton  prying  into  the  mysteries  of  the  heavens,  and  ex- 
ploring spaces  from  which  the  swiftest  beam  of  light, 
starting  while  he  lies  in  his  cradle,  could  not  reach  him 
before  his  body  is  laid  in  its  grave,  and  yet  at  last  with 
enfeebled  intellect  poring  over  a  problem  of  which  he 
can  only  say,  "I  knew  it  once" — a  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
the  greatest  general  of  his  age,  receiving  almost  royal 
honors  and  the  world's  applause,  yet  at  last  exhibited  for 
so  much  extra  by  his  servants  to  the  curious  visitor 
of  those  magnificent  grounds  which  his  taste  and  wealth 
had  changed  to  an  earthly  Eden ;  and  finally,  when  death 
comes,  and  honors  wait  on  his  crumbling  dust,  and  the 
funeral  car  is  covered  with  shields  whereon  are  inscribed 
those  victorious  battle-fields — Blenheim  and  Ramillies, 
Lille  and  Tournay,  Bethune  and  Ruremonde — vanishing 
from  among  men,  only  to  have  the  after  world  criticise 
the  meanness  that  was  combined  with  his  valor,  and  the 
penuriousness  and  treachery  that  were  allied  with  his 
sagacity — or  a  William  Pitt,  as  Prime  Minister  of  Eng- 
land, wielding  in  his  hand  almost  the  destinies  of  nations, 
sinking  in  the  midst  of  his  years  from  his  place  of  power 
2 


26  LIFE  LESSONS. 

to  the  helplessness  of  an  invalid,  his  body,  within  a  fe^f 
hours  of  his  decease,  left  unattended  in  a  lonely  tenement/ 
from  which  every  living  occupant  had  vanished— or  a 
Napoleon  setting  up  or  overthrowing  thrones  by  a  stroke , 
of  his  pen,  at  last  a  neglected  prisoner  on  a  far-off  ocean 
island,  forced  there  to  speculate  in  bitterness  on  the  in- 
stability of  all  human  greatness,  and  the  uncertainty  of 
all  human  prospects. 

And  what  a  sad  story — upon  which  Solomon,  if  living 
now,  might  well  moralize — comes  to  us  from  across  the 
ocean,  setting  before  us  the  scenes  that  followed  the  re- 
cent departure  from  earth  of  one  of  England's  most 
gifted  minds,  the  critic  humorist  Thackeray,  whose  writ- 
ings have  delighted  both  hemispheres,  and  whose  words 
had  such  power — to  use  his  own  language  of  another — 
"  to  light  up  a  rascal  like  a  policeman's  lantern."  World- 
ly journalists  could  not  but  comment  upon  the  change 
that  passed  over  the  scenes  which  he  had  made  so  at- 
tractive. Scarcely  was  the  dwelling  on  which  he  had 
expended  his  taste,  and  which  he  had  made  so  exquisitely 
inviting,  complete,  when  its  owner  was  called  away,  and 
in  a  few  days  more,  those  rooms  in  which  he  had  spread 
around  him  the  luxuries  of  thought,  and  in  which  he  had 
enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  converse  with  the  most  gifted 
and  intellectual,  were  filled  with  a  lot  of  customers,  a 
motley  group,  which  only  his  pen  could  describe — -stran- 
gers to  one  another,  shrewd,  coarse-minded  men,  hanging 
on  the  auctioneer's  hammer,  anxious  to  pick  up  at  the 
lowest  price  the  best  bargains,  and  handling  with  busi- 
ness coarseness  what  the  author's  mind  had  linked  to 
precious  or  sacred  memories. 

Looking  at  such  scenes  as  these,  recurring  every  day, 
who  that  asks — what  is  man  ? — docs  not  feel  that  if  he  is 


THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE.  2? 

to  judge  him  only  by  the  show  or  pageant  and  its  humili- 
ating sequel,  he  must  concede  that  he  is  only  the  play- 
thing of  chance,  the  bubble  of  time,  the  rocket  of  ambi- 
tion. Who  is  not  ready  to  turn  aside  and  exclaim  with 
sadness,  "  and  is  this  the  sum,  the  scope,  the  goal  of  man's 
eager  hope  ?  Does  he  shine  for  a  moment  only  to  give  a 
meaning  to  the  emblem  of  the  glowworm  spark  ?  Does 
he  flourish  for  a  moment,  only  to  give  the  plucked  and 
withering  flower  a  deeper  significance?  Does  he  pass 
before  our  eyes  and  then  vanish  to  be  seen  no  more,  only 
to  humiliate  his  life  by  its  contrast  with  that  of  the  oak 
of  centuries  that  spreads  its  broad  arms  over  his  grave, 
and  survives  every  memorial  of  his  crumbled  dust  ?" 

It  is  not  strange  that  when  a  king  of  England  with  his 
barbarous  chieftains  were  gathered  to  listen  to  the  mes- 
sage of  the  first  Christian  missionary,  who  told  them  of 
the  Great  Father  and  the  life  eternal,  one  of  the  more 
serious,  as  a  swallow  entered  the  tent,  flew  about  it  and 
then  sped  away,  should  take  up  the  parable  and  say — 
"  Lo !  0  King !  a  symbol  of  our  life  here !  We  are  like 
the  swallow  that  enters  the  tent,  flies  about  and  then 
soars  away  we  know  not  whither.  If  these  men  can  tell 
us  of  our  future,  or  throw  light  on  the  unexplored  dark- 
ness, let  us  hear  their  words."  Does  any  onfc  listen  to 
that  barbarous  yet  thoughtful  chieftain  without  feeling 
that  the  words  find* an  echo  in  his  own  heart?  What  is 
life  ?  what  is  its  meaning  ?  Is  the  grave  the  final  boun- 
dary, the  goal  of  human  hope  ?  Do  you  say  yes  ?  What 
a  mortifying  littleness  then  there  is  about  it!  How 
humbling  are  its  vicissitudes  and  changes !  How  unsat- 
isfactory its  highest  honors,  its  amplest  fortunes !  How 
the  very  height  to  which  the  boldest  and  strongest  climb, 
is  but  the  edge  of  the  precipice — the  Tarpeian  rock — 


28  LIFE  LES80NS. 

from  which  they  must  inevitably  plunge  to  a  deeper  and 
deeper  oblivion  1 

The  man  who  takes  this  view  of  life  degrades  his  priv- 
ileges, degrades  himself,  and  degrades  God's  purpose  in 
his  creation.  Most  appropriately  may  he  say,  let  us  eat 
and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die,  and  so  revel  his  few 
fleeting  hours  away — hours  that  have  no  more  meaning, 
and  will  have  no  future  resurrection  for  judgment,  when 
once  they  are  gone.  Or  still  more  appropriately,  scorn- 
ing all  that  he  sees  as  the  pageant  of  an  hour,  and  feel- 
ing that  reason  itself,  setting  forth  his  capacity  and  his 
doom,  his  power  to  soar  and  the  grave  to  which  he  is 
chained,  is  but  the  expositor  of  his  conscious  misery,  he 
may  exclaim — "  let  me  escape  from  this  farce  of  existence 
and  drown  hope  and  disappointment  alike  in  the  stream 
of  oblivion." 

But  who  can  acquiesce  in  such  a  conclusion  ?  Who 
does  not  feel  all  the  instincts  of  his  being  rising  up  to 
protest  against  it  ?  And  who  can  take  this  view  of  life 
which  the  word  of  God  reveals  without  feeling  that  that 
alone  ennobles  existence — that  that  alone  is  worthy  the 
end  which  God  had  in  view  in  creating  man — that  that 
alone  gives  dignity  to  the  lowliest  lot,  and  lifts  man  up  to 
that  platform  of  hope  and  effort  and  aspiration  for  which 
he  was  designed  ? 

Then  it  is  that  we  may  hope  to  see  realized  what  the 
seraphic  Howe  has  so  eloquently  described — "  That  lofty 
soul  that  bears  about  with  it  the  living  apprehensions  of 
its  being  made  for  an  everlasting  state,  so  earnestly  in- 
tends it,  that  it  shall  even  be  a  descent  and  vouchsafe- 
ment  with  it,  if  it  allow  itself  to  take  notice  what  busy 
mortals  are  doing  in  their  (as  they  reckon  them)  grand 
negotiations  here  below.  ...  He  hath  still  the  image 


THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE. 


29 


before  his  eye,  of  this  world  vanishing  and  passing  away  : 
of  the  other,  with  the  everlasting  affairs  and  concern- 
ments of  it,  even  now  ready  to  take  place  and  fill  up  all 
the  stage,  and  can  represent  to  himself  the  vision  (not 
from  a  melancholic  fancy  and  crazed  brain,  but  a  rational 
faith  and  a  sober  well-instructed  mind)  of  the  world  dis- 
solving, monarchies  and  kingdoms  breaking  up,  thrones 
tumbling,  crowns  arid  sceptres  lying  as  neglected  things. 
He  hath  a  telescope  through  which  he  can  behold  the 
glorious  appearances  of  the  Supreme  Judge  ;  the  solemn 
state  of  his  majestic  person ;  the  obsequious  throng  of 
glorious  celestial  creatures,  doing  homage  to  their  eternal 
King,  the  swift  flight  of  his  royal  guards,  sent  forth  into 
the  four  winds  to  gather  the  elect — the  universal  silent 
attention  —  the  judgment  set,  the  books  opened,  the 
frightful,  amazed  looks  of  surprised  wretches,  the  equal 
administration  of  the  final  judgment,  the  adjudication  of 
all  to  their  eternal  state,  the  heavens  rolled  np  as  a  scroll, 
the  earth  and  all  therein  consumed  and  burnt  up." 


IV. 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  LIFE. 

"  The  glory  which  thou  gavest  me,  I  have  given  them."—  JOHN  xvii.  22. 

HT^HE  vanity  of  man  as  mortal"  is  one  thing,  and 
JL  his  dignity  as  immortal  is  quite  another.  One 
is  as  the  candlestick,  the  other  is  as  the  light  set  in  it 
which  gives  it  use  and  value.  One  is  the  perishing  husk 
of  the  seed,  the  other  is  its  living  germ.  One  is  the  chaff 
and  stubble,  the  other  is  the  precious  and  garnered  grain. 

Regard  man's  existence  simply  as  bounded  by  the  cra- 
dle and  the  grave,  and  wonderful  as  it  is,  it  is  still  more 
pitiable.  Its  bloom  is  as  the  early  cloud  and  the  morn- 
ing dew.  Its  hopes  are  narrowed  to  the  prospects  of  an 
uncertain  to-morrow.  Its  soaring  aspirations  are  chained 
down  to  the  clod,  or  shut  up  like  an  eagle  in  a  canary 
bird's  cage.  Make  it  gaudy  as  you  will,  and  it  is  only 
like  a  garlanded  victim,  marching  in  pomp  to  the  sacrifice. 
It  is  a  magic  lantern  picture  that  vanishes  forever  when 
death  puts  out  the  light  of  genius  and  energy  within. 

All  the  memorials  that  it  can  leave  behind  it  are  only 
like  inscriptions  traced  on  the  sand  that  the  rising  tide 
will  soon  cover.  The  waves  of  oblivion  are  ever  dashing 
their  foam  nearer  and  nearer.  In  a  little  while  all  will 
be  buried  or  obliterated  forever.  How  the  great  primae- 
val forests  have  been  crushed  down  and  compacted  till 
in  the  coal  mine  of  to-day  you  cannot  discern  limb  or 
trunk,  and  only  here  and  there  is  the  imprint  of  the  leaf 
that  once  spread  out  its  gaudy  beauty  to  the  sun  !  So  it 
is  with  the  generations  of  human  genius*  They  overlie 

(30) 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  LIFE.  3 1 

and  crush  one  another,  and  the  scholar,  digging  up  tho 
lessons  of  the  past,  is  exploring  fossils,  is  bringing  up  from 
unsunned  depths  what  the  world  had  forgotten.  History 
has  not  pens  enough  to  record  more  than  just  the  outlines 
of  national  progress  or  decay,  and  if  she  had,  her  memo- 
rials would  be  given  over  to  cobwebs,  dust,  and  worms. 

A  great  ship  goes  down  on  the  ocean,  and  the  waves 
roll  on  over  it  with  unbroken  sweep  just  as  they  did  be- 
fore. So  it  is  on  the  sea  of  time  with  the  great  and  gay, 
the  man-of-war  and  the  pleasure  yacht.  What  if  here 
and  there  there  are  a  few  floating  spars!  They  only 
inspire  sadness.  They  are  fragments  that  tell  of  ruin, 
soon  to  be  beached  on  the  lone  desert  shore. 

Looking  at  man  as  mortal,  there  are  beasts  that  survive 
him,  and  whose  long-lived  existence  makes  more  humilia- 
ting the  span  of  his  uncertain  three-score  years  and  ten. 
There  are  trees  that  his  hand  plants  that  continuing  after 
he  has  vanished,  will  perhaps  be  rooted  and  fed  from  the 
sod  that  covers  his  dust.  His  life  is  an  apparition.  His 
memory  is  the  vanishing  blaze  of  the  meteor. 

And  is  this  all  for  which  man  was  designed  ?  Did  He 
who  placed  him  here  and  set  him  on  the  pinnacle  of  this 
lower  world,  only  design  him  for  the  same  doom  with  the 
clod  he  treads  upon — only  endow  him  so  wondrously  that 
he  might  see  his  vanity  and  feel  his  misery,  and  gaze 
down  helpless  into  the  gulf  of  annihilation  that  awaits 
him  ?  Did  he  fit  up  this  globe  with  all  that  it  contains, 
and  make  man  the  lord  of  it,  only  that  he  might  more 
keenly  feel  what  a  mere  straw  is  his  broken  sceptre,  and 
how  hollow  is  the  homage  that  just  furnishes  him  his 
funeral  equipage  as  life  itself  becomes  a  march  toward 
the  grave  ?  Did  he  make  each  dying  seed  with  its  living 
germ  an  emblem  of  the  resurrection,  only  to  suggest  hopes 


32  LIFE  LESSONS. 

of  immortality  that  are  doomed  to  blight  ?  Did  he  frame 
the  plan  of  our  life  so  that  these  years  should  become  an 
education  for  a  future  we  are  never  to  know  ?  Did  he 
set  an  intelligent  soul  in  this  exquisite  mechanism  of  the* 
body,  as  a  mere  engine  to  keep  it  in  motion  till  it  sinks 
with  the  worthless  hulk  to  a  common  decay  ?  Did  he 
endow  it  with  faculties  to  look  through  nature  up  to 
nature's  God,  and  with  affections  that  can  rejoice  in  His 
love  and  call  him  Father,  only  to  leave  it  abandoned  at 
last,  a  more  than  orphan  outcast,  only  privileged  to  say 
to  corruption  "  thou  art  my  Father,  and  to  the  worm  thou 
art  my  mother  and  my  sister  ?" 

Then  indeed,  human  existence  becomes  a  troubled 
dream,  and  all  our  inward  agony  of  thought,  our  reproofs 
of  conscience,  our  strivings  and  struggles  after  a  higher 
life  and  a  moral  blessedness,  are  but  a  useless  incubus  of 
woe,  a  bitter  nightmare  for  which  the  oblivion  of  the  grave 
may  be  a  welcome  relief.  Then  does  the  globe  itself  be- 
come, instead  of  the  perch  from  which  we  spread  our  wings 
for  an  immortal  flight,  the  tomb  of  human  aspiration,  the 
slough  of  our  despond  in  which  hope  sinks  forever  stifled. 

Then,  as  I  walk  the  earth,  it  rings  hollow  to  my  tread, 
calling  me  down  to  its  sunless  realms.  As  I  gaze  on 
ruined  desolation,  it  sympathizes  with  my  woe.  As  I 
tread  the  empty  halls  where  splendor  revelled,  the  cheer- 
less echoes  of  my  footstep  are  the  funeral  dirge  that  ac- 
companies my  march  to  the  tomb.  The  stars  that  look 
down  upon  me  are  the  sentinels  of  my  despair.  History 
has  no  meaning.  Probation  and  discipline,  and  retribu- 
tion are  empty  words.  I  am  a  floating  atom  drifting  to 
oblivion.  I  am  gifted  with  reason  and  consciousness 
only  to  read  with  keener  sagacity  and  keener  torture  the 
humiliation  and  anguish  of  my  final  lot  ? 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  LIFE.  33 

But  is  this  the  design  of  God  ?  Dare  I  impute  such 
cruelty  to  his  benevolence,  such  folly  to  his  wisdom? 
Must  I  not  feel  that  man  is  of  higher  destiny  than  the 
worm  that  crawls  under  his  feet  ?  Must  I  not  respect 
human  life  as  I  cannot  that  of  the  brute  whose  flesh  feeds 
me,  or  the  tree  whose  fuel  warms  me  ?  In  a  word,  can  I 
stop  short  of  accounting  man  immortal,  and  recognizing  in 
him  one  whom  God  deigns  to  own  as  a  child  ? 

"  Shall  man  be  left  forgotten  in  the  dust, 

When  fate  relenting  bids  the  flower  revive  ? 
Shall  Nature's  voice,  to  man  alone  unjust, 

Bid  him  though  doomed  to  perish,  hope  to  live  ? 
Is  it  for  this  fair  virtue  oft  must  strive 

With  disappointment  penury  and  pain  ? 
No  !  Heaven's  immortal  spring  shall  yet  arrive, 

And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again 
Safe  through  the  eternal  year  of  love's  triumphant  reign." 

And  now  it  is  that  I  can  recognize  the  dignity  of  man. 
I  can  discern  the  beautiful  consistency,  harmony  and 
order  of  the  divine  plan  that  makes  this  life  the  seed- 
time of  being,  the  germ  of  an  immortal  destiny.  I  do 
not  need  thrones  and  palaces  or  pompous  pageant  to  con- 
fer distinction  on  the  short-lived  superiority  of  man  to 
the  brute.  He  is  throned  in  his  immortality.  He  is 
crowned  by  his  destiny.  His  greatness  is  not  measured 
by  the  toys  and  playthings  of  earthly  ambition,  by  rank 
or  title,  or  wealth  or  dominion.  His  own  great  birth- 
right of  immortality  pours  contempt  on  all  other  legacies. 
By  the  side  of  that  which  is  common  to  all,  the  things  in 
which  men  differ  are  of  small  account.  Human  life  is 
sacred  because  it  is  God's  allotment  of  a  probation  on 
which  the  issues  of  the  life  immortal  are  suspended. 
2* 


34 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


Man  is  great  as  man,  not  because  he  is  in  high  station, 
not  merely  because  he  has  powers  that  can  study  the  uni- 
verse, and  weigh  the  mountains  in  scales,  and  survey  the 
heavens,  and  unfold  their  mechanism,  but  because  these 
powers  are  destined  to  an  infinite  and  eternal  develop- 
ment, because  God  owns  him  as  a  child,  because  heaven 
may  be  his  home. 

Now  you  may  see  what  he  is,  and  what  homage  is  paid 
him,  and  how  time  and  nature,  and  revelation,  declare 
his  greatness.  Mark  his  capacity  and  discern  what  it 
really  is,  and  what  is  its  scope — not  to  build  palaces  or 
swift  ships,  to  span  rivers,  to  lay  iron  tracks,  to  tunnel 
mountains,  to  decipher  the  fossil  rocks,  to  trace  the  pro- 
gress of  art  or  pioneer  its  march,  or  classify  the  facts  of 
history — not  to  unfold  the  mysteries  of  his  own  being,  or 
analyze  the  operations  of  his  own  mind — but  in  doing  all 
this  to  discipline  his  powers  for  a  higher  service,  and  by 
the  consecration  of  all  his  aims  make  the  ladder  of  human 
attainments,  the  ladder  by  which  the  soul  mounts  to  a 
more  comprehensive  survey  of  the  works  and  providence 
of  God.  He  is  great,  not  in  the  strength  of  affections 
that  idolize  child,  or  husband,  or  wife,  or  parent,  or  coun- 
try, and  that  welcome  hardship  and  the  risk  of  life  to 
serve  them,  but  in  affections  which  cling  to  the  Almighty 
Father  and  to  a  covenant  God,  and  twine  themselves  with 
deathless  tendrils  to  the  props  of  the  everlasting  promise. 

Away  then  with  all  the  baubles  that  amuse  the  fancy 
or  minister  to  a  shallow  pride.  Away  with  all  distinc- 
tions that  cover  up  the  one  grand  distinction  of  man  as 
the  heir  of  immortality.  Let  rags  and  broadcloth  be 
alike  transparent  that  I  may  recognize  the  man — the 
heart  beneath  them  all,  that  God  will  deign  to  make  his 
living  temple,  and  that  shall  ring  with  songs  of  deathless 


THE  DIGNITY  OF  LIFE. 


35 


praise  when  the  last  minster  spire  or  cathedral  dome  is 
wrapt  in  the  final  flame. 

It  is  this  recognition  of  man's  immortality  that  justifies 
his  position  where  God  has  placed  him  as  the  lord  of 
this  lower  world.  All  things  on  earth  are  made  for  him. 
This  globe  is  the  stage  on  which  he  is  nobly  to  act  his 
part.  All  its  changing  phases  are  the  revolving  chart 
on  which  he  is  to  study  his  Father's  lessons.  Its  seeds 
and  flowers  and  harvests,  its  clouds  and  sunshine,  its 
mountains  and  valleys,  its  dawn  and  twilight,  its  silence 
and  its  song,  its  discord  and  its  music,  its  rests  and  tem- 
pests are  all  of  them  emblems.  He  and  he  alone  has  a 
mind  to  read  and  a  heart  to  feel  them.  How  the  great 
heavens  seem  to  come  down  at  his  bidding  to  map  them- 
selves on  his  eyeball  1  How  the  mountain  ranges  and 
the  fossil  strata  keep  back  their  secrets  till  he  questions 
them !  How  history  unrolls  its  chart  to  his  steady  gaze 
till  he  sees  in  the  light  of  revelation  the  grand  outline  of 
God's  wonderful  and  eternal  providence.  How  the  dis- 
cipline of  temptation  and  trial  subdues  his  vain  confi- 
dence, rasps  away  his  follies,  and  perfects  the  jewel  of 
his  faith.  How  sun  and  stars  to  his  thoughtful  eye  beam 
with  a  light  which  no  prism  can  dissolve,  and  the  shadows 
beneath  which  he  walks,  teach  him  to  hold  firmer  by  the 
word  whicli  is  a  lamp  to  his  feet  and  a  light  to  his  path. 

It  is  to  him,  subordinate  to  God,  that  nature  pays  her 
homage.  For  him  winds  blow  and  waters  roll.  For 
him  the  mine  has  kept  its  treasures  safe  through  uncounted 
ages.  For  him  the  earth  is  carpeted  with  verdure,  and 
for  him  the  forests  and  the  harvests  wave.  The  sea  and 
land  alike  lay  their  treasures  at  his  feet.  Beast,  bird 
and  insect,  defy  one  another,  but  yield  to  his  control. 
Canvass  and  marble  wait  hig  touch  to  plo\v  with  some 


36  LIFE  LESSONS. 

lofty  ideal.  Even  the  wilderness  beckons  him  to  its  pos- 
session, and  the  ocean  wave  teaches  hini  daring.  Society 
itself  is,  normally,  the  school  of  affection  and  of  virtue. 
The  family  is  God's  nursery  for  the  young  immortal. 
The  state  is  the  gymnasium  of  civil  integrity,  ordained 
of  God  to  school  men  in  the  alphabet  of  that  very  justice, 
and  order,  and  legislation,  and  retribution,  which  illus- 
trate his  own  moral  and  infinite  government. 

But  the  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ  in  declaring  the 
dignity  of  human  nature,  even  in  spite  of  the  apostacy 
and  the  unspeakable  ruin  that  must  finally  overtake  the 
perverted  guilty  soul,  leaves  all  else  behind.  An  impris- 
oned monarch  may  buy  his  ransom  by  ceded  kingdoms. 
An  Inca  of  Peru  may  seek  to  redeem  himself  from  arrest 
by  halls  piled  up  with  solid  gold,  but  the  blood  that 
flowed  on  Calvary  is  more  precious  than  mines  or  empires, 
and  that  blood  was  shed  as  a  propitiation  for  our  sins. 
This  is  the  last,  great,  crowning  gift  of  divine  love, 
declaring  in  the  preciousness  of  our  ransom  the  dignity 
and  value  of  the  soul. 

Eecognize  then,  your  true,  your  real  greatness,  not 
that  of  beauty  or  wealth,  or  taste,  or  learning,  or  gifts  ; 
not  that  of  charities,  or  self-righteousness,  or  good  deeds  ; 
for  in  all  these  things,  our  highest  attainments  leave  us 
whelmed  in  dust  and  humiliation — leave  us  only  to  reflect 
on  the  vanity  of  man  as  mortal — but  consider  your  birth- 
right of  immortality.  Consider  how  God  has  put  you 
here  in  training  for  the  skies,  how  he  seeks  to  reclaim 
you  from  all  that  is  low,  and  sensual,  and  selfish,  that  he 
may  lift  you  up  to  himself  and  teach  you  to  set  your 
affections  on  things  above,  that  you  may  be,  more  than 
the  heir  of  kings,  more  than  the  wielder  of  sceptres- 
God's  own  child. 


V. 

THE  COMPASS  OF  LIFE. 

"A  conscience  void  of  offense." — ACTS  xxiv.  16. 

OUR  life  on  earth  has  been  often  compared  to  a 
vessel  on  the  ocean.  We  are  afloat  on  the  waves 
of  time,  and  if  we  ever  reach  the  port  of  peace,  it  will  be, 
as  the  vessel  reaches  the  harbor,  not  by  drifting,  but  by 
steering  aright. 

But  the  emblem  of  the  vessel  is  only  too  weak.  We 
bear  with  us  a  treasure  richer  by  far  than  the  holds  of 
famed  India  fleets  or  Spanish  galleons.  A  human  soul 
freighted  with  the  hopes — the  possibility  of  immortal 
blessedness,  is  such  a  prize  for  the  great  Infernal  pri- 
vateer, as  corsair  or  pirate  never  seized.  Rich  in  facul- 
ties, affections,  privileges,  opportunities  of  sublime  aim 
and  virtuous  effort,  capable  of  doing  and  enduring  and 
loving  till  its  very  presence  is  a  joy  and  benediction,  it 
would  only  be  degrading  it  to  class  it  with  silver  plate 
or  CaHfornia  gold.  It  is  sad  enough  to  look  at  the 
skeleton  frame  of  a  noble  vessel  flung  crushed  upon  the 
rocks,  its  timbers  sinking  to  decay,  the  ooze  and  mud  of 
the  sea  carpeting  deck  and  state-room — but  what  is  this 
to  the  sight  of  a  soul  flung  wrecked  and  helpless  on  the 
rocks  of  eternal  judgment,  going  down,  amid  the  requiem 
of  its  own  moans  and  anguish,  to  the  deeps  of  gloom  and 
darkness — the  prey  of  desolation  and  utter  despair  ? 

And  the  dangers  that  threaten  the  human  soul  are  paral- 

(37) 


3  8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

leled  by  none  which  the  sailor  meets  upon  the  sea.  The 
records  of  probation  would  show  a  percentage  of  loss 
such  as  would  force  an  underwriter  to  decline  all  risks 
of  insurance.  How  few  of  life's  voyagers  reach  the  har- 
bor without  loss  and  in  triumph !  How  many  sink  out- 
right— how  many  are  left  castaways  as  it  were  on  the 
desert  shore ! 

There  must  be  something  terrific  in  a  storm  at  sea, — 
when  the  waves  come  rolling  on  like  watery  avalanches, 
and  the  oak-ribbed  vessel  quivers  under  the  shock  ;  when 
the  loud  trumpet  shout  that  should  convey  orders  is 
drowned  by  the  thunder's  and  the  tempest's  roar  ;  when 
the  cordage  snaps  and  the  masts  are  swept  by  the  board ! 
There  is  the  great  floating  coffin  that  sinks  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea  as  if  it  were  a  grave,  and  just  beneath  are 
those  fathomless  depths  so  deep  that  the  light  goes  out 
as  if  in  caverns,  and  there  is  no  landmark,  no  beaten 
path,  no  glimmering  lighthouse  to  guide  the  vessel's 
course. 

And  yet  there  is  another  sea  whose  face  is  swept  by 
fiercer  tempests,  whose  deeps  are  more  unfathomable,  whose 
shores  are  all  lined  with  broken  spars,  and  whose  bottom 
is  covered  with  countless  wrecks  which  no  human  eye 
may  explore.  To  many  it  is  one  wide  waste  of  waters, 
a  scene  of  ever  tossing  agitation,  tempestuous  with  tempta- 
tion, and  its  rock-bound  shores  stern  as  retribution  wait 
to  crush  human  hopes  flung  upon  their  mercy.  Who  can 
enter  into  that  inward  struggle  through  which  the  soul 
must  pass  to  reach  in  triumph  the  peace  of  God,  and  see 
it  whelmed  beneath  the  waves,  or  striking  on  hidden 
rocks,  or  sinking  visibly  to  the  awful  darkness  beneath, 
and  not  feel  that  the  perils  of  our  life  are  not  those  of  a 
Kane  among  Polar  icebergs,  or  a  Speke  among  barbarous 


THE  COMPASS  OF  LIFE. 


39 


African  tribes,  or  a  Sedgwick  and  Wadsworth  under  the 
battle-field's  bail  of  death,  but  rather  are  to  be  found 
everywhere,  where  a  human  spirit  quails  before  the 
tempter,  or  wavers  in  its  allegiance  to  God  ? 

If  a  painter  with  the  most  consummate  art  should  draw 
you  two  scenes — one,  that  of  a  Columbus  returning  tri- 
umphant from  his  voyage  of  discovery,  with  the  riches 
and  treasures  of  a  New  World  in  the  hold  of  his  vessel, 
and  the  crowded  docks  alive  with  men  shouting  his  wel- 
come home — the  other,  that  of  some  foundering  Arctic, 
going  down  with  its  freight  of  human  life  amid  the  rush 
of  waves,  the  blaze  of  lightnings  and  the  thunder  of  the 
storm, — the  contrast  would  but  symbolize  the  different 
fate  of  human  beings,  starting  from  the  same  harbor, 
with  equal  capabilities,  with  common  hopes,  and  with 
the  same  favoring  breeze.  One  passes  away  as  it  were 
in  the  triumph  of  a  successful  voyage,  with  words  of  lofty 
cheer  in  his  feeblest  whispers,  while  the  port  of  rest 
greets  and  cheers  his  dying  eye — the  other  sinks  silent 
and  hopeless  beneath  the  waves  and  storms  of  life,  leav- 
ing no  memorial  perhaps  behind  but  the  bubble  of  his 
parting  breath.  One  stands  on  Pisgah  conversing  with 
angels.  The  feet  of  the  other  stumble  on  the  dark  moun- 
tains. One  leaves  behind  him  such  memories  of  good- 
ness as  make  every  place  of  his  earthly  sojourn  fragrant 
for  generations — the  other  is  thought  of  only  as  a  Pilate, 
a  Gallio,  or  a  Demas. 

What  makes  this  difference?  Why  does  the  world 
never  weary  to  hear  of  Mount  Vernon,  the  tomb  of  Wash- 
ington ?  Why  does  the  latest  generation  keep  still  well- 
worn  the  path  by  which  for  centuries  the  noblest  of  earth 
have  hasted  to  lay  the  freshest  flowers  on  the  graves  of 
the  martyrs  ;  while  of  one  of  the  very  ablest  of  England's 


40  LIFE  LESSONS. 

gifted  statesmen  (Walpole)  the  historian  has  been  con- 
strained to  say, "  JSTo  enthusiasm  was  ever  felt  for  his  per- 
son ;  none  was  ever  kindled  by  his  memory.  No  man  ever 
inquired  where  his  remains  are  laid,  or  went  to  pay  an , 
homage  of  reverence  to  his  tomb.77  The  explanation  is 
not  far  to  seek.  In  one  case  duty  ruled  ;  in  the  other  only 
a  selfish  ambition,  so  inherently  mean,  that  no  poet7s 
strains  could  ennoble  it,  and  no  stars  or  ribbons  blazon 
over  its  infamy.  I  do  not  wonder,  in  view  of  the  con- 
trast between  the  soul  walking  the  earth  but  treading  on 
it  with  the  high  resolve  of  duty,  and  the  soul  mining 
mole-like  among  the  low  elements  which  are  given  up 
to  clods  and  worms,  that  the  poet  Wordsworth  should 
apostrophize  that  by  which  alone  life  can  be  redeemed 
from  contempt : 

"  Stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God, 

0  duty,  if  that  name  thou  love, 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 

To  check  the  erring  and  reprove ; 
Thou  who  art  victory  and  law 
When  earthly  terrors  overawe ; 
Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice." 

Who  would  not  respond,  "Amen  ?77    Who  would  not  say, 
let  duty  be  to  me 

"  victory  and  law 
Whem  earthly  terrors  overawe." 

I 

Suppose  a  native  of  some  heathen  land  should  ap- 
proach the  pilot  of  a  vessel  in  a  dark  and  stormy  night, 
and  see  him  often  turning  to  gaze  upon  a  glass-covered 
box,  within  which  a  long  iron  needle  is  poised!  He 


THE  COMPASS  OF  LIFE.  41 

knows  not  what  it  is,  and  he  cannot  understand  this  fre- 
quent gaze.  He  inquires,  and  is  told  that  under  all 
changes,  in  every  sea,  and  in  every  latitude,  that  iron 
needle  will  still  point  unwavering  to  the  pole.  When 
the  darkness  sets  all  human  calculations  at  defiance,  and 
the  keenest  sagacity  cannot  even  guess  whitherward  the 
vessel  moves,  that  little  piece  of  senseless  metal  knows 
more  than  pilot,  crew,  and  royal  and  scientific  societies. 

"How  wonderful,"  perhaps  he  replies  ;  "  but  is  it  ab- 
solutely infallible  ?"  Why,  no  !  Another  piece  of  iron 
laid  alongside  of  it,  which  the  heedless  observer  might 
not  detect,  would  turn  it  out  of  its  course,  and  make  it 
utterly  untrustworthy.  It  might  only  mislead.  It  might 
just  excite  confidence  only  to  betray  it.  And  yet  we  do 
not  throw  it  away.  It  is  something  above  and  beyond 
all  reason  and  all  calculation.  Without  it  the  sailor  would 
be  lost  in  the  darkness.  The  clouds  would  spread  like  a 
pall  over  his  vessel.  But  with  the  compass — satisfied  that 
no  unwarranted  attraction  draws  it  aside — he  steers  on 
by  night  and  by  day,  in  storm  and  sunshine,  and  feels 
assured  that  all  is  right. 

Well,  conscience  is  the  soul's  compass.  On  our  vogage 
it  points  steadily  to  the  pole  of  truth.  It  is  not  indeed 
infallible.  It  may  be  drawn  aside  from  its  true  direc 
tion.  Persecutors  have  dipped  their  hands  in  innocent 
blood  and  thought  they  did  God  service.  Men  making 
gain  by  mean  or  mischievous  pursuits  have  warped  their 
conscience  round  into  line  with  their  business.  Many  a 
crime,  many  a  strange  fanaticism  has  pleaded  conscience 
Men  have  engaged  in  the  slave  trade  and  persuaded 
themselves  that  they  were  carrying  out  the  designs  of 
the  Almighty.  But  in  every  such  case  the  conscience 
was  not  void  of  offence.  It  was  affected  by  adverse  in- 


y  £f  *  ¥  A  ** 


42  LIFE  LESSONS. 

fluences,  by  self-interest,  the  love  of  pleasure  or  gain. 
The  purse,  with  its  metal  contents  perhaps,  was  too  near 
this  needle  of  the  soul. 

But  he  that  would  be  safe  at  last  must  regard  it.  He 
must  steer  his  course  by  the  intimations  which  it  gives. 
It  is  possible  that  ships  abandoned  by  polar  navigators 
should  drift  down  to  some  southern  coast  and  be  again 
recovered,  but  he  who  drifts  on  the  sea  of  life  is  lost  be- 
yond all  recovery.  And  what  is  a  career  of  pleasure  but 
drifting  with  the  breath  of  jesting  and  amusement,  and 
what  is  a  career  of  selfishness,  but  scudding  without  a 
helmsman  before  the  blasts  of  passion  and  interest? 
Does  any  man  imagine  that  thus  he  will  ever  reach  the 
port  ? 

No,  he  needs  the  compass,  he  needs  it  free  from  all 
disturbing  influences,  he  needs  to  study  and  heed  its 
pointing  finger,  and  steer  as  it  directs.  Unless  he  does, 
ne  is  lost.  The  man  without  a  conscience,  if  such  a  thing 
could  be,  would  be  the  greatest  wretch  on  earth — the 
most  amazing  object  of  pity,  and  is  he  less  so,  who,  with 
a  conscience,  heeds  it  not,  or  allows  it  to  be  subjected  to 
influences  that  pervert  it  ? 

And  yet  what  is  any  continuous  course  of  evil  but  a 
steady,  systematic  perversion  and  offending  of  the  con- 
science ?  It  is  like  a  straining  of  the  eye  till  the  power 
of  vision  is  lost.  It  is  a  tampering  with  those  convic- 
tions of  duty  by  which  the  soul  is  held  back  as  by  a  cable 
from  the  maelstrom  of  perdition. 

What  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  on  board  a  vessel 
should  tamper  with  the  compass,  should  allow  scraps  of 
iron  to  be  left  near  it,  and  then  throw  some  covering  over 
them,  that  they  might  not  be  seen  ?  He  would  imperil 
the  vessel  and  its  cargo,  his  own  life  and  the  life  of  all 


THE  COMPASS  OF  LIFE. 


43 


on  board.  And  yet  this  is  what  that  man  does  who  al- 
lows his  conscience  to  be  perverted,  who  brings  his  purse 
or  his  business  or  his  pleasure  so  near  to  it  as  to  draw 
it  from  its  true  line.  He  imperils  his  soul  with  all  its 
precious  interests.  He  imperils  his  everlasting  inher- 
itance and  the  welfare  of  all  that  are  associated  with 
him  or  are  influenced  by  his  example. 

Or  what  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  should  throw 
the  compass  overboard,  and  should  choose  to  be  drifted 
with  the  winds  and  currents  whithersoever  they  might 
bear  him,  to  strange  seas  or  to  hidden  rocks.  And  yet 
this  is  no  more  than  what  that  man  does  who  throws 
conscience  overboard,  and  allows  himself  to  drift  on  the 
current  of  pleasure  or  be  driven  by  the  blasts  of  passion 
or  interest.  He  is  afloat  on  a  stormy  sea,  and  he  will 
never  reach  the  port.  We  need  no  spirit  of  prophecy 
to  be  assured  that  his  life  will  be  a  tragedy,  and  that 
ere  long  he  will  become  a  sunk  or  stranded  wreck. 

Above  all  things,  then,  tamper  not  with  the  con- 
science. Never  allow  it  to  be  warped  by  unhallowed 
influences.  A  little  thing,  like  a  mote  in  the  eye,  may 
irritate,  if  not  injure,  it  irreparably.  One  great  attain- 
ment of  Probation  is  a  properly  educated  conscience.  It 
is  the  monitor  of  duty  ;  it  is  that  which  echoes  in  the 
soul  the  voice  of  its  Maker.  If  it  speaks  doubtfully,  if 
you  have  stifled  its  utterance,  if  you  have  perverted  it 
from  its  true  direction  and  scope,  then  you  are  risking 
the  results  of  life  on  a  false  compass — false  through  your 
complicity,  or  by  your  own  act. 


VI. 

DUTY  — THE    LAW    OF    LIFE. 

"  These  things  ought  ye  to  have  done." — MATT,  xx  lii.  23. 

THE  word  ought  implies  duty.  Is  there  such  a  thing 
as  duty  ?  Is  there  any  thing  that  should  have  con- 
trol of  a  man  above  his  own  personal  interest — above  his 
pleasures  and  his  tastes  ? 

Thousands  live  as  if  they  fully  believed  there  was  not. 
They  are  governed  by  self-interest.  The  great  question 
with  them — the  maelstrom  that  swallows  up  everything 
else  —  is,  What  will  contribute  to  my  gain,  to  my 
pleasure  ?  The  world  they  live  in,  and  the  world  they 
live  for,  centers  in  self.  Their  morality — if  they  are 
moral — is  a  matter  of  education  or  taste.  Not  to  be 
honest  would  be  a  loss  of  reputation  or  standing.  Not 
to  be  sober  would  risk  health  and  success  in  business.  All 
their  virtue  is  simply  natural  amiability,  or  a  matter  of 
habit  or  calculation. 

Such  men  often  go  through  the  world  with  a  fair  repu- 
tation, and  do  some  good  on  their  way — good,  however, 
not  of  the  kind  that  springs  from  design,  or  holy  purpose, 
but  good  like  that  of  a  wheel  in  a  piece  of  mechanism — for 
God's  providence,  without  reference  to  their  own  plan, 
makes  them  wheels  in  the  social  organism.  Sheltered 
by  honorable  associations,  the  tornado  of  temptation 
spares  them.  They  stand  visibly  upright  to  the  last, 

(44) 


DUTY— THE  LAW  OF  LIFE.  45 

and  no  stain  attaches  to  their  names.  But  have  they 
answered  the  end  of  life?  Have  they  been  governed 
by  right  motives?  Have  they  built  on  the  rock,  or  on 
the  sand  ? 

Sometimes  they  give  back  an  answer  themselves  which 
contradicts  their  life.  Sometimes,  as  remorse  coils  its 
folds  about  their  sinking  frame,  they  confess  with  in- 
ward agony  that  they  have  committed  a  great  and  life- 
long mistake.  They  spurn  as  mockery  the  soothing 
flattery  that  they  have  been  upright  and  moral.  The 
memory  of  their  self-indulgence  is  to  them  like  the 
"  hand- writing  on  the  wall."  They  see  nothing  high  or 
noble  or  pure  to  redeem  their  life  from  the  blight  of  a 
wasted  probation. 

And  yet  men  will  say,  If  I  interfere  with  no  man's 
rights,  may  I  not  consult  my  own  convenience  or  pleasure? 
May  I  not  do  what  I  will  with  my  talents,  my  time,  my  - 
wealth  ?  What  good  will  it  do  me  to  be  a  hermit,  or 
an  ascetic,  to  crucify  ease  or  comfort  or  taste  by  self- 
denial  ? 

Well,  let  us  suppose  that  a  man  need  recognize  no  law 
above  his  own  convenience  or  interest/  What  one  may 
do,  all  may  do.  Duty  is  dispensed  with.  No  man  asks, 
What  ought  I  to  do?  There  is  no  ought  in  the  case. 
Every  man's  interest,  taste,  or  pleasure  is  his  rule.  What 
follows  ?  What  is  the  result  in  the  family,  in  society,  in 
the  state?  You  have  dissolved  the  whole  framework 
of  social  order.  The  parent  neglects  the  child,  and  the 
child  disobeys  the  parent.  Every  brother  is  a  Cain, 
every  mother  is  an  Herodias,  every  neighbor  is  an  Ish- 
mael.  Will  you  remonstrate  against  this?  How  can 
you  do  it  ?  You  must  appeal  to  that  obsolete  principle 
of  duty.  You  must  recognize  the  fact  that  we  are  not 


46  LIFE  LE880NS. 

independent  of  one  another — that  we  owe  to  one  another, 
without  respect  to  what  we  receive,  love  and  service. 

Introduce  the  principle  into  the  State.  It  repeals  every 
law,  for  civil  legislation  is  swallowed  up  by  individual 
caprice.  It  reduces  social  order  to  chaos.  It  inaugurates 
anarchy  and  revolution  and  endless  civil  feuds.  It  sanc- 
tions tyranny,  and  theft,  and  murder,  and  the  will  of  the 
strongest.  Ambition,  avarice,  and  revenge  abolish  courts, 
and  bludgeons  and  pistols  take  the  place  of  sheriffs. 
And  what  becomes  of  patriotism?  The  State  cannot 
claim  that  a  man  should  forego  ease  or  personal  gain,  to 
serve  either  in  its  councils  or  in  its  armies. 

But  this  is  not  all.  If  there  is  no  such  thing  as  duty, 
no  promise  is  binding,  no  oath  is  inviolable.  Why  should 
a  man  observe  truth  or  justice  if  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  moral  obligation  independent  of  taste  or  interest? 
And  without  truth  between  man  and  man,  where  is  so- 
ciety, where  is  the  State?  The  drifting  sand,  every 
grain  independent  of  its  fellow,  is  cohesion  and  solidity 
itself,  to  a  system  in  which  every  ruler  is  a  Nero,  and 
every  subject  an  Ishmael. 

Yet  all  this  flows  forth  as  the  legitimate  result  when 
you  dispense  with  the  cement  and  the  authority  4>f  duty. 
The  veriest  despotism  that  barbarism  ever  constructed 
could  not  hold  together  an  hour  without  some  respect 
for  the  obligations  of  duty.  The  Dey  of  Algiers,  or 
even  the  King  of  Dahomey,  is  forced,  in  spite  of  the 
fiendliest  passions,  sometimes,  at  least,  to  keep  his  promise, 
to  fulfill  his  engagements. 

There  is,  then,  such  a  thing  as  duty.  There  is  some- 
thing which  claims  the  right  to  govern  a  man,  above  his 
own  taste,  or  caprice,  or  interests.  Nay,  his  'own  nature, 
seared  and  flawed  by  sin  till  it  threatens  to  crumble  to 


DUTY— THE  LAW  OF  LIFE. 


47 


absolute  corruption,  is  still — like  the  rock  interfused  with 
silver — veined  with  conscience.  In  spite  of  the  most 
confirmed  and  desperate  depravity,  the  soul  bows  uncon- 
sciously before  the  majesty  of  the  truth  it  hates,  and 
Felix  trembles  at  the  look  of  his  prisoner,  even  while  his 
words  mingle  their  tones  with  the  clanking  of  his  chain. 
If  you  examine  piecemeal  a  steam-engine,  in  its  opera- 
tions, you  come  to  what  is  called  the  governor,  which  is 
designed  to  regulate  the  engine  in  all  its  motions.  You 
have  no  more  doubt  of  its  design  than  you  have  of  the 
existence  of  the  engine  itself.  So  if  you  take  the  hu- 
man mind  to  pieces  you  find  that  this— infinitely  more 
curious  and  complicate  than  any  structure  that  human 
genius  ever  contrived — has  its  governor  also.  It  has 
that  which  assumes  to  guide,  and  judge,  and  control 
all  a  man's  actions  —  that  which  grasps  the  helm 
of  the  mind  as  unhesitatingly  and  boldly  as  the 
captain  of  a  vessel  directs  how  it  shall  be  trimmed — 
issues  its  orders,  as  it  were  in  conscious  mastery — looks 
the  soul  in  the  face  when  it  yields  to  low,  base  self- 
interest,  and  says :  "  You  mean,  dastardly  wretch  !  blush 
to  hold  up  your  head  among  decent  men.77  That  gov- 
ernor is  the  human  conscience.  A  man  may  not  like  its 
control  or  company.  lie  may  abuse  it,  and  violate  it,  and 
spurn  it,  and  stupify  it  with  vice  and  drunkenness;  he 
may  put  it  under  the  heel  of  his  lusts,  and  bore  out  its 
eyes  with  sophistry,  and  smother  its  voice  with  the  loud 
tones  of  revel ; — but,  torn,  bleeding,  dishonored,  gasp- 
ing in  whispers — it  lives  yet,  and  it  claims  its  rightful 
throne,  and  it  maintains  still  the  tone  of  a  king  ;  and 
sometimes  it  flings  off  all  the  murderous  lusts  that 
trampled  on  it,  and  rises  up  like  a  giant  to  reassert  its 
control  over  a  wrecked  and  trembling  nature.  It  can 


48  LIFE  LESSONS. 

not  be  destroyed.  It  can  not  be  exiled.  To  the  very 
last,  when  the  flesh  crumbles,  and  the  limbs  shake  with 
weakness,  and  reason  itself  is  ready  to  give  way,  con- 
science speaks  in  the  soul  with  a  voice  as  much  more, 
authoritative  than  all  other  voices,  as  God's  thunders  are 
louder  than  human  revels. 

/  And  whence  is  conscience  ?  Is  it  an  accident  ?  Was 
it  dropped  in  as  a  fragment  to  fill  up  the  seams  or  round 
out  the  intellectual  or  social  nature  of  man  ?  Nay  ;  is  it 
not  the  very  substance  of  our  moral  nature,  and  does  it 
not  bear  as  plainly  the  stamp  of  design  as  the  governor 
in  a  steam-engine?  And  was  it  not  put  there  by  the 
great  Builder,  and  does  not  its  very  presence  declare 
louder  and  plainer  than  words,  that  man,  in  all  his  facul- 
ties, tastes,  sympathies,  and  purposes,  is  to  yield  to  its 
control  ?  It  is  the  constitutional  sovereign  of  the  empire 
of  our  faculties.  To  disregard  it,  is  treason  ;  to  disobey  it, " 
is  rebellion.  To  set  up  pleasure,  or  convenience,  or  gain, 

tor  personal  or  selfish  interest,  in  place  of  it,  is  to  dethrone 
the  rightful  monarch  ;  it  is,  as  it  were,  to  release  Barab- 
bas  and  crucify  Jesus. 

Man,  then,  is  made  under  law  ;  he  is  created  subject  to 
the  law  of  duty.  That  law  is  supreme.  It  is  as  much 
above  lust,  passion,  and  interest  as  the  laws  of  the  United 
Slates  are  above  the  resolutions  of  a  caucus  of  secession- 
ists— as  the  laws  of  Sinai  are  above  the  rules  of  etiquette 
at  Belshazzar's  revels  or  Dives's  feasts. 

If  any  man  could  yet  doubt  it,  he  would  only  need  to 
compare  the  results  of  a  life  of  duty  with  a  life  of  pleasure 
— the  lofty  heroism  of  a  Daniel  faithful  to  his  God  amid 
all  the  allurements  of  a  heathen  court,  with  the  selfish 
aspirations  of  a  Hainan  climbing  up  to  swing  from  his 
own  gallows — the  sublime  fidelity  of  a  Washington  to 


DUTY— THE  LAW  OF  LIFE. 


49 


the  sacred  trust  his  country  reposed  in  him,  with  the 
baseness  of  an  Arnold  selling  himself  to  a  golden  infamy 
— the  truthfulness  of  unswerving  integrity  under  whose 
shadow  the  wronged  finds  shelter  and  the  wretched  pity, 
with  the  trifling,  vain,  heedless  indulgence  that  degrades 
a  man  to  the  level  of  a  peacock  or  a  swine.  Placed  side 
by  side,  even  a  fool  might  be  struck  by  the  contrast. 
One  is  sunlight,  the  other  fog  ;  one  is  the  fragrance  of 
Eden,  the  other  a  stench.  The  study  of  one  inspires  and 
thrills  us  beyond  the  note  of  drum  or  trumpet  or  martial 
strain  ;  the  sight  of  the  other  makes  us  sick  of  human 
nature.  We  turn  away  as  from  a  slough  of  filth  and 
loathing.  Yet  one  is  duty  incarnate,  the  other  selfish- 
ness gone  to  seed. 

The  great  question,  then,  which  is  to  determine  the 
plan  and  destiny  of  a  man's  life  is  this  :  Shall  I  yield  to 
the  supreme  law  of  duty  ?  Shall  I  bow  to  the  mandate 
of  conscience,  and  of  God  speaking  through  the  con- 
science ?  Shall  I  put  base  or  selfish  interest  foremost,  or 
shall  I  simply  ask,  "  What  ought  I  to  do/7  and  make  the 
answer  final  ? 

On  that  decision  depends  more  than  pen  can  write  or 
tongue  can  tell.  On  that  hinge  the  results  of  probation 
and  the  issues  of  eternity.  By  that  is  to  be  determined 
whether  these  years  shall  be  carved  into  the  statuary  of 
noble  and  godly  deeds,  or  whether  they  shall  be  ground 
down  to  the  sandy  rubbish  with  which  Satan  strews  the 
pathway  of  blinded  thousands  to  hell — whether  your 
example  shall  be  a  moral  lighthouse  which  the  storm- 
tossed  shall  see  and  bless,  or  a  rocket,  whose  charred 
remnant  shall  be  trod  under  the  heel  of  contempt,  even 
by  its  once  admirers — whether  you  will  mount  upward 
or  sink  downward — soar  or  crawl — be  Godlike  or  beast- 
3 


5o  LIFE  LESSONS. 

like — be  the  world's  benefactor  or  its  curse — grow  Tip 
to  the  stature  of  a  sanctified  manhood  or  be  dwarfed  and 
shriveled  to  the  littleness  of  base  and  selfish  aims. 

Can  any  man  hesitate  with  such  a  choice  before  him  ? 
He  might  almost  as  well  hesitate  between  an  angel's 
crown  and  a  felon's  cell,  between  the  benediction  of 
Heaven  and  the  agonies  of  despair. 

And  now  the  question  meets  him,  What  is  duty  ?  It 
is  not  a  difficult  one  to  him  who  is  ready  to  deny  himself 
and  take  up  his  cross — to  one  who  has  made  up  his  mind 
fully  to  shrink  from  no  task  which  he  ought  to  meet — • 
to  him  who  stands  resolved  to  thread  every  deed  and 
thought  on  the  string  of  right.  Such  a  man  will  soon 
find  that  all  authority  centers  in  the  will  of  God,  that 
morality  has  its  true  and  eternal  basis  in  religion,  that 
he  cannot  begin  his  course  without  first  asking,  What  do 
I  owe  to  that  great  Being  in  whose  hand  my  breath  is, 
and  whose  are  all  my  ways  ?  And  he  cannot  long  con- 
sider this  without  being  brought  to  feel  how  grossly  he 
has  sinned  already,  and  how  much  he  needs  the  pardon- 
ing love  and  grace  of  God. 

And  then  may  he  find  in  the  volume  of  God's  revealed 
will  a  release  from  all  his  difficulties,  and  a  solution  of 
all  his  doubts.  He  will  find  provision  made  for  all  his 
need.  The  path  of  duty  will  open  before  him,  and  he 
will  see  that  its  very  starting-point  is  just  where  the 
penitent  sinner  bows  in  humble  confession  before  the 
cross  of  Christ. 

i 


VII. 

LIFE  SERVICE  DUE  TO   GOD. 

"  Will  a  man  rob  God?"— MAL.  iii.  8. 

AS  morality — in  a  general  sense — is  duty  toward 
man,  so  religion  is  duty  toward  God.  Both  are 
demanded  of  us,  and  we  cannot  be  just  if  we  deny  the 
claims  of  either.  If  we  allow  one  and  refuse  the  other, 
we  stand  condemned  by  our  own  act.  We  are  inconsis- 
tent with  ourselves. 

And  yet  there  are  thousands  who  claim — and  perhaps 
justly,  as  they  understand  it — to  be  upright  and  moral, 
whose  religion  is  but  a  form  and  many  times  a  mockery. 
They  are  honest  with  men — as  they  measure  obligation. 
They  are  dishonest  toward  God.  If  they  admit  that  they 
ought  to  obey  and  serve  and  love  their  Maker,  it  is  an 
admission  that  dies  on  the  lip  and  never  affects  the  heart. 
With  little  or  no  anxiety  they  tread  their  own  convic- 
tions under  foot ;  they  press  on  in  a  course  which  their 
consciences  condemn,  and  which  conflicts  with  all  the 
principles  which  they  avow  or  even  cherish  in  social 
intercourse. 

Such  is  the  career  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands. 
They  palliate  it.  They  excuse  it.  They  offset  it  by  an 
array  of  their  own  virtues,  their  integrity  or  morality. 
But  what  is  its  character  ?  What  is  the  proper  name 
for  it  ?  It  is  robbery — robbing  God. 

But  "will  a  man  rob  God?"  There  is  something 
atrocious  in  the  very  thought!  To  rob  a  stranger  is 

(51) 


52  LIFE  LESSONS. 

criminal,  and  the  law  of  the  land  reprobates  it.  To  rob 
a  neighbor  is  more  repulsive.  To  rob  a  friend,  one  who 
has  done  us  kindly  offices,  is  still  more  heinous.  To  rob 
a  parent  is  accounted  the  height  of  baseness  as  well  as, 
guilt — but  to  rob  God,  who  is  not  only  our  great  heavenly 
Friend,  our  Ruler,  our  Maker,  but  our  Father  in  heaven, 
infinitely  transcends  it  all. 

But  can  the  charge  be  brought  home  to  us  ?  Is  it 
true  ?  What  is  the  verdict  of  every  unbiased  conscience 
in  view  of  the  evidence  ?  Let  us  see. 

And  first,  can  a  man  rob  God?  The  whole  universe 
is  his,  and  man  is  his  creature.  You  may  say  that  he 
can  carry  nothing  off  the  premises,  and  it  is  true.  But 
can  there  be  no  robbery  save  that  which  succeeds  ?  The 
owner  of  property  sits  unseen  by  the  intruder,  sees  him 
enter  and  seize  his  plunder,  is  ready  to  recover  it  again 
at  the  proper  moment,  or  perhaps  knows  that  the  rob- 
ber is  too  weak  to  carry  it  off,  will  in  fact  drop  exhaust- 
ed and  helpless  in  the  attempt.  But  is  the  deed  any 
the  less  a  crime  for  all  this?  So  God's  eye  is  on  the 
culprit.  He  sees  not  only  the  outstretched  arm,  but  also 
the  very  thoughts  of  the  soul.  He  can  resume  anything 
that  guilty  man  may  choose  to  appropriate  just  when  he 
will ;  nay,  he  knows  that  life  itself,  like  a  palsied  hand, 
must  soon  sink  too  enfeebled  to  grasp  or  retain  its  prize. 
But  the  spirit  of  the  deed  yet  remains.  If  not  successful, 
it  is  yet  robbery. 

But  God  has  so  made  man  as  a  free  and  accounta- 
ble agent  that  he  can  at  will  retain  and  withhold  what 
is  due  to  God  as  his  in  right  and  justice.  He  is  put  in 
trust  with  that  which  belongs  to  God,  and  is  justly  to 
be  rendered  back  to  him — which  cannot  be  withheld  from 
him  or  his  service  without  great  guilt. 


LIFE  SERVICE  TO  GOD.  53 

Man  is  God's  creature,  his  intelligent  creature,  capable 
of  studying,  and  by  instruction  of  understanding  the  end 
of  his  being,  and  devoting  himself  toward  its  attainment. 
God  has  a  supreme  right  to  demand  of  every  man  that 
he  shall  enter  into  the  divine  design  and  co-operate 
heartily  and  steadily  in  carrying  it  out,  and  to  withhold 
that  devotion  or  co-operation  is  to  rob  him  of  the  duty 
which  an  intelligent  creature  owes. 

Man  is  God's  subject,  made  under  law,  born  under  au- 
thority, bound  to  obey  and  to  render  every  duty  of  loy- 
alty and  fidelity.  He  can  rebel  in  spirit  and  purpose, 
and  refuse  obedience,  and  withhold  loyalty.  And  what 
a  robbery  is  this !  Ask  the  statesman  or  patriot.  How 
can  a  value  be  fixed  on  that  of  which  it  is  said  "  to  obey  is 
better  than  sacrifice,  and  to  hearken  than  the  fat  of 
rams." 

Man  is  God's  child,  and  owes  him  a  child's  duty  of 
love  and  affection.  That  love  and  affection  belong  to 
God.  They  are  his  by  right.  No  one  can  be  justified — 
can  justify  himself  in  withholding  them.  And  what  is 
their  worth  ?  Love  is  the  treasure  of  the  heart :  it  is 
that  which  we  prize  the  most.  It  is  that  on  which  God 
sets  the  highest  estimate.  A  man  might  steal  your  purse 
or  rob  your  dwelling,  and  you  might  perhaps  forgive 
him,  but  suppose  he  stole  away  the  affections  of  husband, 
wife  or  child,  would  you  not  feel  that  the  robbery  was 
one  which  no  gold  could  compensate  ?  Would  you  not 
say  that  this  was  the  very  height  and  atrocity  of  rob- 
bery ?  And  what  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  owns  creation 
and  can  make  millions  of  worlds  at  a  breath,  are  all  the 
treasures  of  mines  and  kingdoms,  to  the  love  and  affec- 
tion of  one  who  can  say — "My  Father  God?"  That 
little  prattler  on  your  knee  cannot  think  as  you  think. 


54  LIFE  LESSONS. 

cannot  speak  as  you  speak,  cannot  earn  a  penny  to  add 
to  your  store,  but  its  smile  is  the  sunshine  of  your  home, 
and  how  much  you  should  prize  its  unbotight  kiss  you 
may  never  know  perhaps,  unless  called  to  look  at  death's, 
seal  on  its  marble  brow  and  its  closed  eyelids.  Ah ! 
what  a  robbery,  when  God,  with  a  God's  authority  and 
a  parent's  affection,  says  to  his  wayward  child,  my  son 
give  me  thy  heart,  and  the  heart  is  denied ! 

God  rightly  claims  your  influence  and  example  on  his 
side.  There  is  a  controversy  going  on  between  sin  and 
holiness,  and  he  that  is  not  with  him  is  against  him.  The 
worldly  wealth  you  may  have  to  give  to  promote  the 
spread  of  Christ's  kingdom  may  be  small,  but  a  conse- 
crated life  he  has  a  right  to  claim — a  life  of  prayer,  a 
life  that  commends  religion  to  others,  a  life  that  tends  to 
check  the  tide  of  overwhelming  sin,  and  draw  lost  men 
to  the  cross  of  Christ.  Here  is  something  that  you 
either  give  or  withhold.  If  you  withhold  it,  then  you 
rob  God. 

God  rightly  claims  the  service  of  your  hands — the 
consecration  of  all  the  fruits  of  your  toil.  These  belong 
to  him  as  the  great  proprietor,  and  you  are  but  his  stew- 
ard. Some  men  make  an  unwarranted  distinction  be- 
tween what  they  use  for  themselves  and  what  they  give 
away  in  charity.  But  God  recognizes  no  such  distinc- 
tion. What  you  expend  for  your  own  comfort  you  are 
to  expend  for  him  and  his  glory,  as  well  as  what  you 
give  to  spread  the  Gospel.  God  entrusts  his  own  wealth 
to  you  for  both,  to  use  in  either  case  for  him.  His  wealth 
furnishes  that  garment.  His  wealth  spreads  that  table. 
Do  you  recognize  it  as  his  ?  Is  it  consecrated  ?  is  it  all 
consecrated  ?  Do  you  read  the  image  of  God  as  well  as 
of  the  goddess  Liberty  on  the  coin — the  image  of  Jesus 


LIFE  SERVICE  TO  GOD. 


55 


overspreading  that  of  the  President  or  the  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury?  Or  like  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  are  you 
keeping  back  from  God  a  part  of  what  you  acknowledge 
to  be  his  ?  If  so  you  are  robbing  God. 

God  rightly  claims  the  service  of  your  intellect.  His 
name  as  owner  is  stamped  on  your  every  faculty,  more 
than  burnt  or  branded  in.  He  is  its  absolute  proprietor. 
Has  it  been  devoted  to  his  service  ?  Has  it  been  enlisted 
in  his  army  ?  Has  it  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  ?  Do 
you  think,  plan,  purpose  for  the  glory  of  God  ? 

And  if  there  is  anything  which  is  God's  beyond  dis- 
pute, it  is  these  hours  of  probation.  Every  year,  day, 
hour,  moment,  belongs  to  God.  Have  you  given  them  to 
him — not  only  the  Sabbath,  not  only  the  hour  of  prayer, 
of  consecrated  thought  and  meditation,  but  each  moment 
— have  you  given  it  back  with  holy  service ;  have  you  used 
it  as  not  your  own,  but  entrusted  to  you  that  you  might 
do  the  work  of  life,  might  prepare  for  eternity,  might 
lay  up  treasure  in  heaven  ? 

If  in  any  of  these  respects  you  have  failed,  then  you 
have  robbed  God — robbed  him  not  as  a  clerk  robs  his 
employer  of  money — not  as  a  traitor  robs  his  country  of 
loyalty — not  as  a  child  robs  a  parent  of  the  love  and 
affection  it  owes — but  you  have  as  it  were  robbed  him 
of  his  own  glory,  you  have  lived  as  if  He  were  such  a 
being  that  he  could  claim  nothing  at  your  hands,  and 
was  only  to  be — if  not  simply  dreaded — neglected  and 
despised.  The  evidence  is  full  and  complete.  It  is  writ- 
ten on  the  memory.  It  is  traced  on  the  conscience.  It 
is  recorded  in  the  book  of  '-Omniscience.  The  stolen 
property  is  perhaps  in  your  hands,  or  your  spendthrift 
policy  has  not  pawned  it  beyond  recall  as  a  witness 
against  you. 


56  LIFE  LESSONS. 

What  will  you  do  ?  Confess  your  sin.  Look  at  it  in 
its  full  enormity.  See  yourself  at  the  mercy  of  an 
offended  God.  Confess  your  guilt  at  His  bar.  Select 
Christ  as  your  advocate,  and  then  plead  the  merits  of4 
atoning  blood. 

But  is  there  nothing,  hitherto  withheld,  that  is  to  be 
rendered  back  to  God  ?  Has  he  not  a  right  to  say — 
"  My  son,  give  me  thy  heart  ?"  Can  you  evade  the  force 
of  that  appeal — "  if  then  I  be  a  father,  where  is  my  honor  ? 
and  if  I  be  a  master,  where  is  my  fear  1"  God  is  en- 
titled, as  God,  to  your  supreme  love  and  your  cheerful 
service.  Will  you  withhold  them  ?  And  what  is  that 
but  robbery  ? 

"  My  Maker  and  my  King, 
To  thee  my  all  I  owe ; 
Thy  sovereign  bounty  is  the  spring 
"Whence  all  my  comforts  flow. 

"Shall  I  withhold  thy  due? 

And  shall  my  passions  rove  ? 
Lord,  form  this  wretched  heart  ane\r, 
And  fill  it  with  thy  love." 


VIII. 

LIVING  FOR  OTHERS. 

"  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens." — GAL.  vi.  2. 

BY  the  very  constitution  of  society,  as  well  as  that  of 
our  own  being,  we  are  placed  under  obligation  to 
seek  and  promote  the  welfare  of  others.  Out  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  our  mutual  relations,  the  sense  of  duty  is 
necessarily  evolved.  These  circumstances  are  not  of  our 
ordering.  They  are  due  to  the  design  of  the  great 
Maker  himself,  who  has  ordered  our  lot.  Kightly  read 
by  the  thoughtful  mind,  they  sustain  by  their  analogy  the 
natural  authority  of  those  divine  injunctions  which  re- 
quire us  to  "  deny  ourselves,"  to  "  bear  one  another's 
burdens,"  to  be  "  our  brother's  keeper,"  and,  in  a  word, 
to  discharge  those  missionary  obligations,  so  often 
branded  as  fanatic,  which  the  Gospel  of  Christ  enforces 
upon  us. 

Some  beams  of  this  great  truth  evidently  dawned,  be- 
fore the  advent  of  Christ,  on  the  heathen  mind.  It  is 
significant  that  Cicero  should  write  a  treatise  de  officiis, 
and  bring  to  view  the  mutual  obligations  of  men  and 
citizens — that  he  should  say  so  emphatically  that  "  the 
true,  the  simple,  the  sincere  was  that  which  was  most 
suited  to  the  nature  of  man."  *  that  self-interest  should 
yield  to  justice,  that  we  are  not  born  for  ourselves  alone. 

*  Quod  yerum,  simplex  sincerumque  sit,  id  esse  naturae  homiuis  apti» 
•imam. 

3*  («) 


5 8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Such  conclusions  may  have  been  drawn  simply  from 
the  study  of  the  constitution  of  man,  or  the  constitution 
of  society.  But.  whether  the  fact  is  recognized  or  not, 
these  have  God  for  their  author,  and  the  wise  study  of  « 
them  reveals  His  design,  and  lends  His  sanction  to  the 
obligations  that  had,  perhaps,  been  already  inferred. 
The  relations  of  parent  and  child,  of  ruler  and  subject, 
and,  indeed,  all  those  which  grow  out  of  our  social  exis- 
tence, must  be  referred  to  Him.  Our  well-being  is  iden- 
tified with  the  proper  discharge  of  duties  which  we  owe 
to  others. 

This  does  not  happen  by  chance.  It  is  not  a  mere  in- 
cident of  our  probation.  Created  as  we  are,  social  be- 
ings, our  own  natures  could  not 'be  developed,  except 
through  intercourse  with  our  fellow-beings.  Nor  is  it 
left  to  our  choice  whether  this  shall  be  the  case.  We 
could  not  change  the  order  of  things  if  we  would.  So- 
ciety is  constituted  into  families,  neighborhoods  and 
states.  The  family  is  the  school  in  which  first  of  all  the 
race  is  trained.  Each  helps  to  educate  the  other.  The 
child  educates  the  parent  as  really  as  the  parent  does 
the  child.  A  new  order  of  affections,  anxieties  and  ef- 
forts is  called  forth  by  the  necessary  discharge  of  pa- 
rental duty,  and  many  a  virtue  is  evoked  by  the  discharge 
of  parental  fidelity  in  protecting,  guarding  and  educating 
the  child. 

First  of  all  there  is  forethought  for  those  who  are  en- 
tirely and  absolutely  dependent.  The  infant,  unable  to 
tell  its  wants,  or  even  to  know  them  itself,  silently  ap- 
peals for  help  and  kindness  and  care.  It  is  an  appeal 
which  no  parent  can  resist.  It  comes  with  a  kind  of  di- 
vine authority.  In  yielding  to  it,  the  parent  is  compelled 
to  consider  what  is  adapted  to  the  circumstances  of  the 


LIVING  FOR  OTHERS.  59 

child,  to  observe  its  varied  wants  and  exposure,  to  study 
what  is  adapted  to  its  bodily  comfort  and  mental  im- 
provement, to  train  and  educate  it  for  future  usefulness 
and  to  take  care  of  itself. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Each  member  of  the  household  must 
be  thoughtful  for  the  welfare  of  others.  This  is  the  ne-t 
cessary  law  of  the  well-ordered  and  happy  household. 
An  exclusive  selfishness  is  intolerable.  It  would  turn 
the  domestic  scene  into  a  theatre  of  hostile  and  war- 
ring passions.  Perverted  as  humanity  is,  the  family 
is  the  school  in  which  we  are  placed  first  of  all — placed 
by  God — to  unlearn  the  depravity  of  our  selfishness, 
and  make  it  part  of  our  life  to  take  forethought  for 
others. 

Turning  now  to  society  at  large,  we  find  that  for  our 
own  good  we  must  toil  and  care  for  one  another.  So- 
ciety itself  is  a  mutual  league  of  help.  There  is  no 
formal  or  expressed,  but  there  is  an  understood  alliance. 
We  work,  plan,  invent,  not  for  ourselves  alone,  but  for 
one  another.  Others  share  the  benefit  of  our  industry 
and  virtue,  and  we  share  the  benefit  of  theirs.  Life  it- 
self is  valuable  or  worthless,  a  joy  or  a  burden,  largely 
in  proportion  as  we  have  around  us  those  whom  we  love 
or  whom  we  distrust.  By  society  we  are  educated  to 
that  which  we  call  public  spirit,  that  is,  a  disposition 
which  rises  above  considerations  of  narrow,  private  in- 
terest. Let  society  become  organized,  as  it  must  be, 
into  the  form  of  government,  and  every  citizen  is  trained 
to  consider  the  claims  of  the  state,  or,  as  it  is  called,  the 
commonwealth.  By  the  very  vote  we  are  called  upon  to 
give,  we  are  educated  to  think  of  the  whole  social  body 
and  what  will  be  for  their  benefit. 

Nor  is  this  all.     Government  represents  the  national 


60  LIFE  LESSONS. 

mind,  studious  not  for  the  profit  of  those  who  compose 
the  administration,  but  of  those  who  compose  the  state. 
It  has  to  consider  the  wants,  the  exposure,  the  burdens, 
the  defence,  the  prosperity  of  all.  So  in  the  neighbor- 1 
hood.  Even  our  own  peace,  and  prosperity,  and  security 
are  the  motive  if  all  others  are  wanting,  to  study  the  in- 
telligence, morality  and  well-being  of  others.  We  want 
them  educated  and  we  build  schools  for  them.  We  want 
them  reformed,  and  we  build  penitentiaries  and  houses 
of  refuge.  We  want  them  brought  under  religious  re- 
straint, and  we  form  bible  and  tract  societies  to  furnish 
them  religious  reading,  or  build  houses  of  worship  in 
which  they  may  be  taught  of  God. 

And  these  social  and  civil  duties  are  such  that  we  neg- 
lect them  at  our  peril.  If  we  selfishly  abandon  all  con- 
sideration for  others,  if  we  concentrate  all  care  and 
anxiety  on  our  own  aggrandizement  or  emolument,  we 
take  the  surest  way  to  destroy  our  own  security  and  com- 
fort. If  we,  in  our  avarice  or  selfishness,  leave  others  to 
grow  up  ignorant  or  vicious — if  we  leave  them  uncared 
for  in  their  vagrancy  or  vice — if  we  withhold  the  means 
needed  for  their  reform,  we  educate  society  itself  to  be- 
come a  den  of  human  wolves — we  leave  it  to  sink  to  a 
level  with  the  revolting  order  or  rather  anarchy  of  sav- 
age life.  All  the  forms  of  wickedness  that  fester  in  the 
lanes  and  alleys  of  great  cities  till  they  breed  a  moral 
pestilence — all  the  crimes  that,  nursed  in  moral  neglect 
and  social  corruption,  at  length  stalk  forth  infernal  Nim- 
rods,  to  rule  and  ruin,  and  trample  on  those  who  did  not 
trample  them  out  by  kindness  at  the  opportune  moment 
— all  these  are  the  penalty  for  remissness  in  social  duty 
and  social  virtue. 

Again,  the  most  attractive  forms  of  human  excellence 


LIVING  FOR  OTHERS.  61 

are  those  which  are  produced  from  the  soil  of  our  social 
relations.  Man  is  never  so  admirable  as  when  he  for- 
gets himself  to  bless  others.  There  are  no  deeds  that 
so  kindle  the  heart  to  admiration  and  enthusiastic  praise 
as  those  in  which  we  bear  others7  burdens,  or  volunteer 
to  suffer  and  endure  in  their  behalf.  It  half  redeems 
from  rebuke  the  vices  of  the  savage  parent,  when  we  see 
him  risking  his  own  life  to  save  that  of  the  child,  and 
who  can  read  without  tears  of  sympathy  of  those  strug- 
gles of  honest  poverty  by  which  the  self-denying  parent 
endeavors  to  clothe,  and  feed,  and  educate  a  child? 
Those  sleepless  nights,  those  tiresome  days,  those  anxious 
hours,  those  welcomed  hardships — adding  new  wrinkles 
to  the  brow,  and  bending  the  frame  with  other  burdens 
than  those  of  age — these  mark  a  heroism,  hidden  indeed 
from  the  eyes  of  the  great  crowd,  but  not  less  noble,  gen- 
erous, or  admirable  than  that  which  on  battlefields  wins 
the  plaudits  of  the  world. 

And  what  is  the  charm  that  invests  the  annals  of 
philanthropy  but  just  that  cheerful  charity  which  fore- 
goes ease,  and  gain,  and  selfish  advantage,  to  promote 
the  comfort  and  welfare  of  those  who  have  no  legal  claim 
to  such  service?  The  deeds  which  redeem  from  con- 
tempt the  broad  desert  of  selfishness  which  constitutes 
the  waste  of  human  history,  are  those  in  which  generous 
spirits,  postponing  all  selfish  considerations,  have  la- 
bored, suffered,  endured  hardship,  or  peril,  or  death  for 
others.  The  world  may  not  be  commercially  richer  for 
the  search  for  Sir  John  Franklin.  Its  map  may  not  have 
been  much  altered  by  the  generous  valor  of  a  Wilken- 
reid  or  Tell,  and  many  a  patriot  and  many  a  martyr  may 
have  fallen  without  seeing  the  cause  consecrated  by  their 
blood  triumphant.  But  we,  at  least,  socially,  morally, 


6z  LIFE  LESSONS. 

spiritually,  are  the  richer  for  them,  and  the  portrait  gal- 
lery of  history  holds  upon  its  walls,  bidding  them  gaze 
down  upon  us  from  the  canvass,  features  that  impress 
themselves  upon  our  remembrance,  and  which  force  us, 
to  aspire  to  a  loftier  standard  of  thought  and  en- 
deavor. 

Even  war,  with  all  its  stern,  forbidding  aspects — war 
that  is  wont,  like  the  fabled  Gorgon's  head,  to  change 
the  hearts  of  those  that  long  gaze  upon  it  into  stone,  finds 
here  almost  its  only  redeeming  features.  When  men 
forget  themselves  for  their  country's  sake,  and  for  the 
love  of  others  breast  the  surging  tide  of  battle,  and  risk 
life  and  everything  on  earth  at  the  call  of  patriotic  duty, 
it  is  impossible  for  us  not  to  admire  and  praise.  Such 
deeds  rise  like  the  Alps  above  the  lowlands  and  quag- 
mires of  selfishness,  and  cold  and  dead  must  that  heart 
be  which  does  not  gaze  up  to  them  with  the  awe  and 
reverence  due  to  moral  greatness. 

Thus  it  will  be  found  that  in  all  the  deeds  or  courses 
of  action  which  most  constrain  to  admiration,  the  real 
element  that  commands  homage  is  the  forgetfulness  of 
self  in  order  to  promote  the  well-being  of  others.  He 
that  takes  forethought  for  those  who  cannot  or  do  not 
take  forethought  for  themselves,  for  the  widow  and  or- 
phan, or  even  for  the  depraved  and  vicious,  is  the  moral 
hero.  And  yet  without  going  out  of  our  way  we  may 
find  in  our  own  homes,  neighborhoods,  communities,  those 
who  challenge  our  sympathy  and  care.  God's  providence, 
therefore,  sets  before  us  in  nature  the  very  lessons  of  His 
word  of  grace,  teaches  us  to  bear  one  another's  burdens, 
incites  us  to  self-sacrifice  to  promote  their  well-being, 
calls  upon  us  as  we  have  freely  received  freely  to  give, 
urges  us  to  look  not  every  man  on  his  own  things,  but 


LIVING  FOR  OTHERS.  63 

every  man  also  on  the  things  of  others.,  echoes  in  our 
ears  the  great  lesson — no  man,  no  true  man,  liveth  to 
himself,  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself. 

To  the  disciple  of  Christ  I  need  not  say,  your  Master's 
example  rebukes  once  and  for  ever  everything  like  an 
absorbing  selfishness.  He  went  about  doing  good.  Your 
business  is  to  follow  in  His  footsteps.  You  have  no  right 
to  think  only  of  your  own  ease  and  comfort.  God  is 
educating  you  every  day  by  the  lessons  of  your  probation 
to  care  for  the  well-being  and  blessedness  of  others. 
While  you  are  pleading  to  yourself  your  own  ease  or 
comfort,  while  you  are  careless  whether  your  example 
cheers  and  encourages  your  Christian  brethren,  whether 
they  find  you  at,  or  absent  from,  your  post,  you  are  vio- 
lating not  only  the  solemn  injunctions  of  your  Master, 
but  the  very  laws  of  the  social  constitution  enacted  by 
the  Author  of  nature  itself. 

But  can  it  be  a  duty  to  study  the  social  and  moral  wel- 
fare of  others,  and  not  their  spiritual  good  ?  Would  you 
consider  it  a  criminal  neglect  in  a  parent  to  clothe  and 
feed  his  child,  yet  leave  his  mind  untaught  and  his  heart 
untrained  ?  Does  that  deserve  the  name  of  education  which 
leaves  uncared  for  all  which  constitutes  man  human  and 
immortal  ?  Am  I  taking  true  forethought  for  one  whom 
I  send  on  a  distant  journey  where  he  will  be  exposed  to 
damp  and  cold,  if  I  just  furnish  him  with  an  umbrella  to 
shield  him  from  the  present  rays  of  a  scorching  sun? 
Surely,  in  truthful  fidelity  I  must  consider  what  he  needs 
most,  what  he  witt  need.  And  what  does  man  need 
most?  What  do  you  need  yourself?  Bound  to  eternity, 
bound  a  sinner  to  the  judgment-seat,  aspiring  to  ever- 
lasting blessedness  in  a  holy  world,  what  is  it  that  is  all 
essential — what  but  a  new  heart,  a  regenerated  and  sano 


64  LIFE  LESSONS. 

tified  spirit,  full  and  free  forgiveness  through  the  chan- 
nels of  mercy  opened  by  sovereign  grace. 

Your  duty  then,  your  highest  duty,  is  to  lead  others  to 
Christ — to  think  of  their  welfare,  not  as  creatures  of  to- 
day, but  as  heirs  of  eternity.  They  are  ever  with  you. 
They  are  fellow-pilgrims.  They  are  children  of  the  same 
Father  in  heaven.  As  guilty  and  wretched,  they  are  en- 
titled to  your  compassion.  As  human,  they  demand  your 
sympathy,  and  the  heart  that  denies  that  sympathy  will 
be  burdened  thereby.  It  is  made  cold,  stern,  repulsive. 
The  very  features  of  it  at  last  bear  the  imprint  of  their 
own  cursed  selfishness,  while  the  loveliness  of  charity 
cannot  remain  hid  even  by  the  veil  of  its  modesty. 

"As  the  rivers  furthest  flowing, 

In  the  highest  hills  have  birth ; 
As  the  banyan,  broadest  growing, 

Oftenest  bows  its  head  to  earth — 
So  the  noblest  minds  press  onward, 

Channels  far  of  good  to  trace  ; 
So  the  largest  hearts  bend  downward, 

Circling  all  the  human  race." 


IX. 

ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY. 

"  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no  God."— Ps.  xiv.  1. 

THE  only  consistent  method  of  evading  the  claims 
of  duty,  is  that  which  is  pursued  by  the  Atheist. 
In  denying  the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Ruler,  he  leaves 
man  to  all  that  measure  of  freedom  in  his  self-will  and 
his  self-indulgence,  which  circumstances  will  allow.  In- 
stead of  quarrelling  with  specific  obligations,  or  meeting 
and  setting  aside  the  claims  of  duty  in  detail — he  would 
annihilate  at  once  the  authority  which  enjoins  them  all. 
Instead  of  cutting  down  the  tree — under  the  shadow  of 
which  he  cannot  bear  to  sit — piecemeal,  instead  of  lopping 
off  limb  after  limb,  he  strikes  boldly  at  the  trunk  itself,  and 
it  is  neither  the  fault  of  his  will  or  purpose  that  he  does 
not  succeed.  In  all  this  —  though  "a  fool,"  he  is  a 
logical  and  consistent  fool.  He  does  not  take  the  Uni- 
versalist's  position  and  pretend  that  the  Scriptures — a 
bed  of  thorns  to  him  in  his  sins — is  as  soft  as  down, 
fighting  with  a  thousand  texts  of  Scripture  and  finding 
it  but  a  cheerless  task  to  smother  them  one  after  another, 
when  they  come  to  life  again  so  soon.  He  does  not  stop 
at  Deism — still  a  half-way  house  on  the  road  to  a  broad 
denial  or  evasion  of  duty — finding  in  that  the  ground  of 
a  more  than  possibility,  that  all  he  dreads  may  be  true — 
but  boldly,  if  not  honestly,  he  strides  at  once  to  that 

(65) 


66  LIFE  LESSONS. 

position  where  alone  he  can  consistently  reject  the  claims 
enforced  by  conscience  and  the  Bible.  Calling  himself 
an  Atheist,  with  any  life  that  he  pleases  to  lead,  he  is 
incased  and  shielded  from  all  assault.  You  may  exhaust 
the  magazine  of  motive,  and  you  cannot  reach  him.  He 
is  proof  against  all.  Archimedes  said,  Give  me  a  pou  sto, 
a  place  to  stand,  and  I  will  lift  the  world.  The  Being 
of  a  God  is  pou  sto,  the  place  to  stand,  to  move  and  con- 
trol the  mind  of  man ;  and  when  that  is  denied,  your  re- 
sources are  gone,  you  have  nothing  on  which  to  rest  your 
lever.  Sometimes  a  man  is  shrewd  enough  to  see  this, 
and  in  his  aversion  to  duty  he  leaps  at  once  into  the  for- 
tress of  Atheism,  and  defies  you.  He  puts  himself  be- 
yond the  reach  of  argument  or  remonstrance.  What 
can  you  say  to  him  ?  You  might  as  well  attempt  to  rea- 
son with  one  who  denies  your  presence.  He  climbs  the 
Babel  tower  of  infidelity  to  its  topmost  turret,  where  no 
arrow  of  truth  can  reach  him — but  if  there  be  an  earth- 
quake— his  grave  would  be  the  deepest  as  his  fall  would 
be  greatest.  But  this  much  we  may  say  for  him,  while 
he  puts  himself  up  so  high — so  near  the  lightnings — that 
it  is  the  only  place  where — with  an  impenitent  heart, 
fully  set  in  resistance  to  the  claims  of  duty — he  can  con- 
sistently be  at  peace.  It  is  the  only  place  where  his 
life  and  principles  will  not  quarrel. 

But  to  all  this  there  is  an  offset.  There  is  something 
horrid  in  the  sublime  theory  upon  which  Atheism  plants 
itself — assuming  thence  to  look  down  on  the  existence  of 
a  God  as  an  idle  fantasy.  Grant  the  principle  of  the 
Atheist,  and  Nero's  wish  for  Rome  is  realized  for  the 
universe.  It  has  but  one  neck  that  may  be  severed  at  a 
blow,  and  without  a  God  it  is  severed.  You  have  noth- 
ing left  but  a  headless  trunk — a  mere  carcass  fit  to  moul- 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY.  67 

der  and  rot.  Other  errors  rob  us  piecemeal — this  does 
its  work  by. wholesale.  Others  hew  off  here  a  thumb,  or 
finger,  or  arm,  or  pluck  out  an  eye,  this  tears  out  the 
living  heart  as  it  beats.  It  is  a  great  loss  to  have  one 
of  God's  grand  and  precious  truths  torn  from  us,  but 
nothing  to  losing  God  himself.  How  do  you  think  one 
of  the  blessed  martyrs  would  have  felt,  to  have  been 
robbed,  while  hunted  in  mountain  or  glen,  of  any  one  of 
those  pillars  of  immortal  hope  which  he  finds  in  the  word 
of  God  ? — any  one  of  those  beams  that  shone  full  from 
the  Sun  of  Righteousness  in  upon  the  darkness  of  his 
bosom  ?  And  yet,  would  it  have  been  anything  to  be 
compared  with  having  all  those  pillars  wrested  away,  and 
the  fabric  overthrown — or  having  that  sun  itself  blotted 
out  with  all  its  beams  in  eternal  night  ?  Atheism  is  con- 
sistent with  itself  when,  as  in  the  French  revolution,  it 
writes  over  the  gateway  to  the  grave,  "  Death  is  an  eter- 
nal sleep."  It  is  consistent  with  itself  when  it  annals 
every  restraint  that  is  exercised  over  wicked  men  by  the 
apprehension  of  a  Supreme  Judge  and  a  final  retribution. 
It  is  consistent  with  itself  when  it  closes  every  temple 
of  worship,  and  rends  to  atoms  all  those  hallowed  sym- 
pathies and  hopes  with  which  the  soul  of  man  is  inspired 
to  do  and  suffer  on  earth.  It  is  consistent  with  itself 
when  it  leaves  the  unaided  reason  of  man  to  grapple  in 
blank  despair  with  the  fearful  problems  of  his  existence 
and  destiny — when  it  sends  him  to  the  grave  with  all  the 
racking  uncertainty  and  doubt  that  invest  the  possibili- 
ties of  a  hereafter — when  it  robs  the  injured  sufferer  of 
the  last  hope  of  redress  in  the  justice  of  heaven,  and  at 
the  same  time  unbars  the  gates  of  every  lawless  passion 
and  impulse,  emancipating  it  from  all  sense  of  accounta- 
bility or  dread  of  retribution.  If  thore  is  any  one  coh- 


68  LIFE  LESSONS. 

ception  into  which  all  these  elements  of  the  terrible,  the 
sublime  and  the  despairing,  are  compressed  and  combined, 
it  is  that  this  scheme  of  existence,  this  moral  and  physi- 
cal universe,  is  without  a  controlling  mind — without  a 
God.  We  stand  appalled  at  the  blind  working  of  this 
immense  mechanism  of  worlds,  where  one  jar  or  accident 
hurls  the  whole  to  atoms,  and  makes  the  vast  chaos  one 
common  grave  for  all  that  lives.  Suns  and  systems  rush 
along  no  iron  track  with  a  speed  that  mocks  the  grasp 
of  our  conception,  and  there  is  no  engineer  with  his 
hand  upon  the  throttle  or  the  break.  The  structure  of 
human  society,  of  human  justice  and  legislation,  is  with- 
out any  divine  sanction.  Its  corner-stone  is  crumbled, 
and  every  hour  it  runs  the  risk  of  destruction  and  ex- 
tinction. 

The  security  of  an  oath  is  but  a  fable — and  the  ad- 
ministering it  a  jest.  The  laws  of  justice  are  but  the 
rule  of  expedience,  and  crime  is  merely  the  blunder  of 
him  that  commits  it.  All  the  punishment  that  the  guilty 
needs  to  dread  is  just  that  which  he  has  to  fear  from  an 
equal,  and  all  the  encouragement  that  the  innocent  can 
hope,  is  that  which  is  doled  out  to  him  in  the  scanty  and 
fallible  allotments  of  the  accidents  of  human  justice. 
You  have  taken  away  all  that  strength  to  resist,  and 
that  encouragement  to  endure,  and  that  sense  of  respon- 
sibility forbidding  to  swerve,  which  are  found  in  the 
thought,  "  Thou  God  seest  me.77  You  have  annulled  all 
those  cheerful,  hopeful  springs  of  effort  which  find  their 
strength  in  the  complacent  smile  of  an  approving  God. 
In  the.  hour  of  calamity  and  darkening  anguish,  you  have 
taken  away  the  last  resource  on  which  the  child  of 
sorrow  and  affliction  can  lean.  Life  is  only  a  brilliant 
dream,  lighting  its  own  way  to  the  grave,  kindled  just 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY.  69 

long  enough,  to  flash  upon  the  gloom  that  is  to  cover  it. 
Man  is  an  orphan — or  a  helpless  child  of  uncertainty, 
want,  guilt  and  anguish.  The  world  is  a  desert  and  a 
graveyard.  Eternity  is  a  terrible  unexplored  chaos, 
the  more  terrible  because  unknown.  The  lofty  hopes 
inspired  by  the  Gospel  are  like  itself,  ignesfatui,  brilliant 
only  to  mislead  and  betray.  The  fond  affections  that 
would  follow  their  loved  object  to  the  grave,  and  will 
not  desert  it  even  then — these  are  but  the  implements  of 
our  torment,  the  chains  that  we  must  wear  to  gall  us. 
No  hope  lights  up  the  parting  hour  of  earth;  no  possible 
prospect  of  a  blest  reunion  can  extract  its  sting.  We 
must  stand  shuddering  over  the  fathomless  gulf  of  anni- 
hilation, and  feed  our  fancy  on  the  shadows  that  imagi- 
nation summons  out  of  its  darkness. 

*'  Behold,  then,  man,  the  creature  of  a  day, 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  brother  of  the  clay, 
Trail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn's  yellow  bower, 
Dust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  flower ; 
A  friendless  slave,  a  child  without  a  sire, 
Whose  mortal  life  and  momentary  fire 
Light  to  the  grave  his  chance-created  form, 
As  ocean  wrecks  illuminate  the  storm. 
And  when  the  gun's  tremendous  flash  is  o'er, 
To  night  and  darkness  sink  for  evermore." 

If  a  man  can  embrace  such  a  theory — a  theory  whose 
open  arms  wait  to  press  him  to  its  bosom  of  hidden 
daggers — a  theory  that  sacrifices  all  that  we  love,  and 
scorns  all  that  we  respect,  and  blasts  all  that  we  hope, 
and  desecrates  all  that  we  worship — if  he  can  embrace 
such  a  theory  and  find  delight  in  it — and  feel  no  humilia- 
tion at  the  nothingness  to  which  it  reduces  him,  and  no 


7o  LIFE  LESSONS, 

pain  at  the  robhery  which  it  inflicts,  we  will  consent  to 
except  him  from  the  common  lot  and  sympathies  of  man, 
but  in  disavowing  him,  we  must  disavow  his  theory  too, 
and  own  that  such  an  attainment  as  his  is  beyond  and 
above  the  reach  of  our  envy. 

Such,  then,  is  the  gloomily  sublime  position  which  the 
Atheist  occupies — and  often  is  proud  to  occupy,  as  though 
there  were  a  merit  and  a  triumph  in  the  bold  achieve- 
ment of  mounting  to  that  height  of  scepticism  from 
which  he  looks  down  contemptuously  on  all  that  is  dear, 
or  honored,  or  sacred  in  the  life  and  hopes  of  man.  Then 
he  lays  claim  to  a  mind  more  impartial,  an  intelligence 
more  searching — a  science  more  extensive  and  accurate, 
than  that  of  other  men;  he  speaks  in  a  tone  of  pity  of 
their  religious  weakness  and  errors,  their  superstitious 
scruples,  their  bondage  to  worn  out  and  obsolete  notions. 
But  what  is  his  achievement,  save  the  gloomiest  conquest 
of  all  ?  what  his  triumph  but  the  triumph  of  despair  ? 
If  he  has  searched  beyond  the  ken  of  others — if  he  has 
read  with  a  keener  vision  the  mysteries  of  nature, 
if  he  has  explored  the  realms  of  thought  which  others 
have  never  trod,  what  is  the  result  that  he  brings  back? 
what  is  the  conclusion  of  all,  that  he  is  proud  to  an- 
nounce ?  That  there  is  no  God ! 

"  Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  demigods  of  fame  ? 
Is  this  your  triumph,  this  your  proud  applause, 
Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause  ? 
For  this  hath  Science  searched  with  weary  wing, 
By  shore  and  sea  each  mute  and  living  thing. 
For  this  constrained  to  utterance  earth  and  air, 
To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair. 
Then  let  her  bind  the  palm,  her  brow  to  suit, 
Of  blasted  leaf  and  death-distilling  fruit 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY.  7i 

Then  let  her  read,  not  loudly  nor  elate, 
The  loom  that  bars  us  from  a  better  fate. 
But  fcad  as  angels  for  the  good  man's  sin, 
Blush  to  record,  and  weep  to  give  it  in." 

The  Atheist's  presumed  conquest  is  that  of  disaster 
and  defeat,  his  boast  is  one  over  which  his  heart  might 
break. 

But  by  what  strange  method  is  it  that  the  Atheist 
climbs  to  this  rocky  height,  where,  like  Satan  on  the 
throne  of  hell,  he  sits  "  supreme  in  misery  "  ?  How  are 
we  constrained  to  wonder  at  the  immensity  of  his  re- 
sources, by  means  of  which  he  can  reach  that  position 
from  which  he  can  look  down  upon  the  being  of  a  God 
as  an  exploded  and  obsolete  notion — from  which  he  can 
look  abroad  through  the  immensity  of  suns  and  systems 
and  feel  warranted  to  declare,  "  They  had  no  author ; 
they  have  no  guide.'7  Before  such  an  immense  and  won- 
derful intelligence  as  this,  all  the  learning  and  attain- 
ments of  the  greatest  scholars  and  philosophers  of  the 
world,  become  diminutive  and  insignificant.  The  mind 
of  Newton  had  a  wonderful  grasp  and  sagacity,  but  all 
that  he  attained  only  led  him  to  bow  the  more  reverently 
before  the  throne  of  the  Great  Ruler,  and  the  poet  has 
traced  his  epitaph  in  those  words  : 

"  Sagacious  reader  of  the  works  of  God." 

Milton  was  read  in  classic  lore,  and  he  possessed  a 
genius  to  make  classic  whatever  flowed  from  his  own 
pen ;  but  from  his  broad  survey  of  earth  and  man  he 
turned  back,  exclaiming : 

y  "  One  Almighty  is  from  whom 

All  things  proceed  and  up  to  Him  return." 


?2  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Bacon,  with  an  intellect  that  seemed  made  to  pioneer  the 
ages,  uncovered  with  a  mighty  hand  link  after  link  in 
the  chain  of  causation ;  but  instead  of  reaching  the  lofty 
position  of  the  Atheist,  he  had  to  be  content  with  a 
humbler  measure  of  attainment,  and  the  feeble  light  that 
he  kindled  was  only  enough  to  extort  the  confession  : 
''  I  had  rather  believe  all  the  fables  of  the  Legend,  and 
the  Alkoran,  and  the  Talmud,  than  that  this  universal 
frame  of  things  is  without  a  God."  But  all  these  minds, 
great  as  we  measure  them,  are  but  pygmies  to  the 
Atheist,  and  all  their  attainments  leave  them  on  the  first 
round  of  that  ladder  to  whose  top  he  climbs ! 

Who  does  not  wonder,  then,  by  what  power  of  genius 
that  height  is  reached — what  hands  have  framed  the  lad- 
der or  hewn  the  staircase,  by  which  the  brain  of  man, 
without  reeling  or  growing  dizzy,  has  mounted  to  it  ? 

The  basis  on  which  the  wisdom  of  all  other  philosophy 
has  been  constrained  to  rest,  has  been  the  existence  of  a 
great  first  cause  on  which  all  others  depend ;  but  Atheism, 
outrivalling  the  Almighty  himself,  who  hung  the  world 
on  nothing,  presumes  to  suspend  all  secondary  causes  on 
no  hook  at  all,  and  sustains  them  all  without  an  uphold- 
ing hand. 

What  other  minds  consider  as  absurd,  and  repudiate 
as  folly,  the  Atheist  receives  as  reasonable,  consistent 
and  wise.  He  can  believe  in  a  design  without  a  designer, 
a  creation  without  a  creator — a  government  without  a  gov- 
ernor, a  system  without  a  devising  and  ordaining  mind. 

What  other  minds  in  their  paroxysms  of  unbelief  are 
constrained  to  confess,  they  can  only  attain  to  doubt,  he 
boldly  and  habitually  denies,  asserting  as  established 
that  of  which  they  can  see  not  the  barest  possibility  of 
proof  or  evidence. 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY.  73 

What  other  minds  deem  incredible,  because  outfaced 
and  overwhelmed  by  a  thousand  contrary  and  invincible 
probabilities,  he  declares  to  be  true,  running  in  the  teeth 
of  other  men's  reason  and  common  sense. 

While  other  men  can  go  back  in  the  history  of  the 
worlds  only  to  the  creating  fiat  of  Jehovah,  he  can 
declare  their  eternal  existence,  or  put  the  "  genesis  of 
chance  "  among  the  rationalities  of  his  creed. 

While  everything  else  in  the  universe  animate  or  inani- 
mate, according  to  its  grade  and  nature,  declares  like  a 
witness,  "  there  is  a  God/7  and  the  very  structure  of  the 
Atheist's  body  and  soul  confirm  the  evidence,  his  voice 
rises  discordant  and  gives  them  all  the  lie. 

What  then  must  be  that  immense  superiority  of  intelli- 
gence, that  surpassing  grasp  of  mind,  that  unparalleled 
learning,  which  shall  warrant  a  man  to  take  this  position, 
with  every  sun  and  star  in  heaven  looking  down  with  an 
eye  of  rebuke  upon  him,  and  every  sand  grain  and  dew 
drop  flashing  back  the  remonstrance,  and  then  and  thus 
assert,  there  is  no  God  ?  Such  a  man  should  possess,  in 
himself,  not  only  the  lore  of  ages,  but  the  history  of  eter- 
nity, not  a  narrow  acquaintance  with  a  single  world,  but 
a  minute  familiarity  with  all  worlds,  not  a  shrewd  suspi- 
cion of  what  the  soul  may  be,  but  a  positive  knowledge 
of  all  its  mysteries,  its  origin  and  destiny.  He  should 
have  the  power  of  reasoning  surpassing  any  thing  that 
mortal  man  has  ever  developed,  a  glance  that  can  not 
only  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  nature,  but  discern  the 
secrets  of  eternity.  And  when  you  can  bring  me  such 
an  one  denying  that  there  is  a  God,  in  other  words,  pre- 
sent me  with  God  himself  in  audible  voice,  disavowing 
his  own  existence,  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  I  consent, 
not  to  be  an  Atheist,  for  that  would  still  be  impossi- 
4 


74 


LIFE  LESSON'S. 


ble,  but  to  confess  that  to  be  one  admitted  of  some  pal- 
liation. 

Surely  that  intelligence  that  presumes  to  have  reached 
such  a  point  as  Atheism,  has  overshot  its  object,  and  only 
embarrassed  itself  by  its  presumption.  It  has  assumed 
so  much  that  we  can  yield  it  nothing.  It  has  claimed 
such  wisdom  that  with  the  warrant  of  God's  word,  we 
can  call  it  nothing  but  fool.  And  what  has  it  accom- 
plished, what  has  it  aimed  to  accomplish,  but  to  achieve 
death  and  demonstrate  despair,  and  assure  annihilation  ? 
Sadly,  sadly  do  we  contemplate  such  triumphs  if  they 
were  real,  rejoiced  rather  to  think  and  sing  : 

"  Thou  art  O  God,  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee  ; 

"Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine." 

The  absurdity  of  Atheism  has  but  one  parallel  and  that 
is  the  disastrous  nature  of  the  conclusions  at  which  it 
seeks  to  arrive. 

But  Atheism  is  not  the  product  of  intellect ;  it  does 
not,  unless  in  some  very  rare  cases,  originate  in  the  brain. 
The  fool  has  said  in  his  heart  "  there  is  no  God.77  He 
has  gone  down,  down  into  the  deepest,  darkest  cham- 
bers of  imagery  within,  that  there  without  discovering  a 
blush,  and  hidden  from  the  scrutiny  of  reason,  he  might 
assert,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  light,  "  for  God  is  light, 
and  in  Him  there  is  no  darkness  at  all.77  It  was  in  that 
den,  where  all  manner  of  evil  thoughts  are  born,  thoughts 
that  are  robbers,  and  extortioners,  and  adulterers,  and 
murderers,  long  before  the  guilty  deed  is  done, — it  was 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY. 


75 


there  that  Atheism  drew  its  first  breath.  It  was  born 
of  rebellion  and  of  crime.  The  dreadful  wish  was  father 
to  the  thought.  Man  hated  God  before  he  denied  Him. 
He  broke  His  law,  before  he  attempted  to  dethrone  Him. 
There  must  be  a  strong  impulse  to  Atheism  from  within, 
before  reason  can  be  driven  to  the  bold  assertion  that 
contemns  the  evidence  without.  The  heart  must  be  a 
tyrant  before  the  head  can  become  a  slave  to  lie  for  its 
master.  Then  it  puts  into  the  lips  of  reason,  words 
whose1  utterance  degrades  it,  sentiments  with  which 
reason  has  no  relations  but  of  antipathy.  Of  rabid  scep- 
tics this  has  in  many  instances  been  the  history.  By 
some  sin  or  course  of  sin  they  had  first  committed  them- 
selves to  a  life  with  which  Atheism  alone  was  consistent, 
and  they  were  impelled  by  all  the  memory  of  the  past, 
and  every  foreboding  of  the  future,  to  patch  up  some  de- 
vice that  could  shield  their  conscience,  and  cry  peace, 
peace,  even  though  there  was  no  peace. 

The  true  remedy  for  Atheism  therefore,  as  might  be 
supposed,  is  not  evidence  or  argument  addressed  to  the 
intellect,  but  moral  truth  and  duty  brought  home  to  the 
conscience  and  the  heart.  The  whole  Bible  has  not  an 
argument  in  it  addressed  to  the  reason  of  man  to  con- 
vince him  of  a  God.  That  point  is  everywhere  assumed. 
And  there  is  no  need  of  plausible  suggestions  to  show 
that  in  this  it  is  right. 

The  man  who  will  swallow  the  absurdities  of  Atheism, 
that  will  believe  that  any  other  intellect  than  his  own  is 
the  crude  product  of  chance,  that  will  count  the  world 
and  human  existence  things  undesigned,  must  be  impelled 
by  a  something  within  him  too  mighty  for  reason  to  mas- 
ter. The  heart  is  wrong,  and,  first  of  all,  he  must  be 
made  to  feel  and  confess  it.  We  say  to  such  a  man, 


76  LIFE  LESSONS. 

look  in  upon  your  own  being,  and  see  if  you  have  never 
felt  that  you  were  a  sinner,  if  you  have  never  heard  a 
still,  small  voice  speaking  within  you  as  experience  never 
speaks,  with  a  more  than  mortal  majesty,  reminding  you 
of  duty  and  enforcing  it  by  something  more  terrible  than 
the  fear  of  human  justice.  Look  and  see  if  upon  your 
whole  moral  nature  there  is  not  stamped  a  deep  sense  of 
accountability  that  you  cannot  shake  off ;  ask  that  nature, 
whether  it  be  not  true  as  the  most  noted  of  all  French 
revolutionists  was  at  last  constrained  to  declare,  that  if 
there  were  no  God,  it  behooved  man  to  invent  one  ;  ask 
yourself  if  the  sense  of  your  dependence  and  accounta- 
bility does  not  plainly  declare,  that  your  own  soul  is  in 
an  unnatural  state,  when  it  does  not  look  up  in  glad 
and  grateful  recognition  of  a  God  above,  in  whom  you 
live  and  move  and  have  your  being  ;  ask  yourself  if  that 
life  which  religion,  or  the  recognition  of  a  God,  calls 
upon  you  to  lead,  is  not  the  one  most  suited  to  your  state, 
condition  and  hopes  ;  ask  whether  the  daily  mercies  that 
overflow  your  path  do  not  call  forth  an  involuntary  and 
spontaneous  burst  of  gratitude,  and  to  whom  does  that 
gratitude  refer,  who  is  or  can  be  its  object  but  God. 

Surely  that  life  of  man  out  of  which  the  element  of 
religion  is  excluded  is  at  war  with  reason,  with  conscience, 
with  the  peace,  and  condition  and  hopes  of  man.  The 
suffrage  of  all  ages  condemns  it.  There  is  nothing  to 
defend  it  but  the  absurdity  of  Atheism. 

Let  one  thing  then  remain  fixed  and  solid  among  the 
eternal  principles  by  which  life  is  to  be  guided — there  is 
a  God.  There  is  a  great  eternal  power  above  us  all, 
under  whose  eye  we  live,  whose  will  is  our  law,  and  to 
whose  tribunal  we  are  accountable.  Live  then  under  the 
solemn  consciousness  of  this  great  and  fearful  truth,  and 


ATHEISTIC  EVASION  OF  DUTY.  77 

in  forming  your  purposes,  and  cherishing  your  hopes,  let 
them  never  clash  with  it,  for  whosoever  shall  fall  on  this 
shall  be  broken,  and  on  whomsoever  it  shall  fall,  it  shall 
grind  him  to  powder. 

It  is  only  the  perverse  heart  that  rebels  against  the 
authority  of  God.  It  is  only  the  guilty  heart  that  wishes 
Him  not  to  be.  But  holiness  triumphs  in  the  assurance 
that  He  is,  and  that  He  is  the  rewarder  of  them  that 
diligently  seek  Him.  The  soul  panting  for  a  higher 
than  any  earthly  good,  cries  out  for  God,  for  the  living 
God.  The  pure  spirit  exults  to  contemplate  the  perfec- 
tions of  that  great  Being  whose  name  is  a  terror  to  the 
evil-doer,  but  to  whom  the  wronged,  the  sufferer,  the  peni- 
tent, humbled  prodigal  turn,  casting  themselves  with  hope 
and  joyful  trust  on  "  the  Fatherhood  of  God." 


X. 

THE    GOOD    OF    LIFE. 

"  What  is  good  for  man."— EC.  vi.  12. 

OUPPOSE  a  man -in  the  full  vigor  of  his  matured 
O  faculties,  but  without  previous  knowledge  or  ex- 
perience, to  be  placed  in  just  such  a  world  as  this.  He 
cannot — at  first,  at  least — converse  with  others,  and  so 
he  is  dependent  for  all  he  can  discover  on  himself  alone. 
What  are  the  questions  that  will  press  themselves  on  th€ 
attention  of  such  a  man,  and  what  are  the  conclusions  he 
will  be  forced  to  adopt  ? 

As  he  begins  his  explorations,  he  finds  that  this  world 
is  fitted  up  as  a  dwelling  place,  and  an  appropriate 
dwelling  place,  for  man.  It  furnishes  him  food,  shelter, 
and  endlessly  varied  materials  for  his  ingenuity  to  shape 
into  forms  for  use  and  comfort  and  beauty.  In  the  most 
secluded  valley  his  prospect  is  as  boundless  as  the  distant 
stars,  and  his  gaze  pierces  into  the  depths  of  immensity. 
The  light  is  adapted  to  the  eye,  and  the  eye  to  the  light ; 
the  air  to  the  lungs  and  the  lungs  to  the  air,  food  to  the 
system  and  the  system  to  food.  Every  joint  of  the  body 
is  a  mechanism  of  most  wonderful  art,  and  the  inexplic- 
able control  of  the  will  over  the  muscles  is  a  perpetual 
miracle  of  goodness.  The  riches  of  the  earth,  in  soil, 
mine,  forest,  vegetable  and  animal  life,  are  inexhaustible, 
and  all  these  are  placed  under  the  control  of  man.  The 
broad  domain  is  all  his  own. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean/7  he  asks.  "  I  had  no 
agency  in  placing  myself  here.  I  did  not  originate  my 
(78) 


THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE. 


79 


own  being.  And  yet  here  I  am  in  a  world  wondrously 
constructed,  while  I  myself  am  a  greater  wonder  still." 
Would  not  the  conviction  flash  upon  him  inevitably — 
"  I  am  placed  here  for  some  purpose,  and  my  first  business 
is  to  know  what  that  purpose  is  ?  I  can  think  and  feel 
and  reason  ;  I  am  not  like  the  brute  grazing  yonder,  that 
is  only  intent  on  its  food.  I  am  not  like  the  acorn  fall- 
ing unconscious  to  the  earth,  to  root  and  germinate 
where  it  falls.  The  reason  within  me  demands  a  prob- 
lem to  grapple  with,  but  where  is  one  to  be  found  like 
this — why  am  I  here,  and  what  is  the  object  of  my 
creation  ?  Till  this  is  solved,  every  other  is  impertinent. 
A  traveller  needs  to  know  his  goal  before  he  sets  out  on 
his  journey.  I  cannot  take  a  step  till  I  know  my  real 
mission." 

And  now — without  any  revelation  as  yet  that  speaks 
to  him  directly — he  seeks  to  know  what  that  mission  is. 
First  of  all  he  sees  that  it  must  be  an  important  one — 
that  the  world  itself  is  evidently  made  for  man.  Every- 
thing is  subservient  to  his  comfort  and  advantage.  He 
is  the  lord,  the  world  is  his  domain.  He  is  the  flower 
of  the  stalk — the  apex  of  the  pyramid.  He  is  the  central 
orb  around  which  all  the  others  revolve.  Everything 
finds  its  highest  use  and  value  in  serving  him.  Take  him 
away,  and  the  world  is  a  kind  of  headless  trunk.  What 
is  his  inference?  Is  it  not  that  the  great  Maker 
creates  and  works  and  governs  with  reference  to  man, 
that  the  end  for  which  all  these  wonderful  things  exist, 
is  to  be  sought  where  it  centers — in  the  man  ? 

"  Here,  then,"  he  says,  "  am  I  fearfully  and  wonder- 
fully made,  and  everything  I  see  around  me  seems  to  say, 
we  exist  for  you.  The  sun  says,  I  shine  for  you.  The 
flower  says,  I  bloom  for  you.  And  the  harvest  says,  I 


80  LIFE  LESSONS. 

wave  for  you,  and  the  birds  say,  we  sing  for  you.  The 
world  is  the  garden,  but  I  am  the  vine,  and  by  what  I 
am,  or  what  I  can  do  or  produce,  creative  wisdom  is  to 
be  justified. 

"  And  what  can  I  do  or  become  ?  I  can  live  like  the 
brute  and  die  like  the  brute,  but  then  all  my  superior 
faculties  would  be  superfluous.  I  can  live  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  jest  and  sport  years  and  opportunities  away 
in  wanton  pleasure.  But  I  feel  that  this  would  be 
making  myself  a  barren  fig-tree,  useless  alike  to  God 
and  man.  Better  that  I  had  never  breathed.  I  can 
carve  statues  and  pile  up  palaces,  and  build  swift  ships, 
but  ere  long  the  statues  will  crumble,  and  the  palaces 
will  fall,  and  the  swift  ships  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
I  must  do  some  other  work  than  this.  I  must  sculpture 
something  beside  marble.  I  must  quarry  something 
beside  granite.  I  must  build  with  something  better  than 
elm  or  oak  or  pine." 

And  would  not  such  a  man  then  be  driven  to  ask — as 
Plato  did — what  is  the  good  ?  What  is  the  best  thing  ? 
What  above  all  else  is  the  richest  jewel  of  this  great 
mine  of  human  enterprise?  It  is  not  beauty.  That 
fades.  It  is  not  strength.  That  decays.  It  is  not 
learning.  Over-crowded  memory  lets  it  spill  and  waste. 
It  is  not  honor  or  fame.  A  breath  makes  these,  and  at 
a  breath  they  fade.  It  is  not  show  or  splendor.  The 
pageant  vanishes  like  a  vapor,  and  moths  consume  the 
wardrobe.  It  is  not  even  disciplined  intellect.  That 
may  be  the  tool  of  ambition.  It  may  be  used  to  poison 
the  fountains  of  human  thought.  The  man  that  has  it 
may  curse  it  at  last,  if  an  evil  heart  makes  it  but  an 
instrument  of  mischief,  or  if  it  gives  him  to  see  only  too 
clearly  what  he  is. 


THE  GOOD   OF  LIFE.  gt 

All  these  things  are  the  hunk,  but  what  is  the  grain  ? 
Is  there  none?  That  cannot  be.  Winnow  away  the 
chaff  and  stubble,  and  what  is  left  ?  Let  a  man's  body 
crumble,  let  his  fortune  be  scattered,  let  the  works  he 
built  go  to  decay — has  all  then  perished?  Possibly. 
And  yet  if  that  man  was  true  to  conscience  and  to 
charity,  every  one  feels  that  he  was  richer  than  his  for- 
tune, and  greater  than  all  his  works — that  he  was  the 
building  and  they  the  scaffolding — that  he  was  himself 
the  treasure,  and  they  the  box  that  guarded  it.  The 
integrity  that  millions  could  not  bribe,  we  all  feel  to  be 
worth  more  than  these  millions.  A  Luther  at  the  Diet 
of  Worms,  planting  himself  on  the  authority  of  Scripture 
alone,  and  declaring,  "  here  I  take  my  stand  ;  I  cannot  do 
otherwise  ;  God  help  me" — a  Bradford  or  a  Winthrop 
sacrificing  ease  and  comfort,  and  the  luxuries  of  English 
homes  for  the  perils  of  the  wilderness  with  the  privilege 
to  worship  God — a  Hampden  standing  up  manfully  to 
contest  the  tax  of  a  few  shillings,  but  which  invaded  the 
freedom  of  the  English  constitution — a  John  Howard 
or  Robert  Raikes,  or  Oberlin  or  Felix  Neff,  studying  out 
new  methods  of  Christian  charity  and  putting  them  into 
execution — who  does  not  feel  that  such  men  as  these 
show  us  in  what  the  worth  of  human  existence  con- 
sists, and  how,  just  as  rain  and  sunshine  and  damp 
soil  and  decaying  matter  are  by  Nature's  chemistry 
changed  into  the  majestic  tree  that  spreads  out  its  broad 
branches  in  bloom  and  strength  and  beauty,  so  by  the 
true  chemistry  of  virtuous  aims,  these  hours  of  service, 
this  soil  of  probation,  and  this  wealth  of  transient  privi- 
lege are  transformed  or  absorbed,  and  so  incorporated 
into  that  human  career  which  by  self  denial  and  charity 
and  holy  purposes,  is  made  a  tree  of  life,  and  under  the 
4* 


g2  LIFE  LESSONS. 

shadow  of  which  earth's  weary  pilgrims,  invoking  bless- 
ing on  it,  lie  down  to  rest  ? 

The  world,  too,  whatever  other  ends  it  may  be  de- 
signed for — and  in  everything  from  the  insect  to  the  , 
eagle,  from  the  sand  grain  to  the  mountain,  it  glorifies 
the  great  Maker — is  specially  designed  to  educate  the 
soul.  You  go  into  a  school-room,  and  though  built  of 
logs,  yet  by  all  its  arrangements,  you  recognize  its  de- 
sign. There  are  benches,  desks,  books  and  diagrams, 
and  charts,  perhaps,  on  the  walls.  Is  not  the  globe  a 
broader  school-room,  with  "  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the 
running  brooks,  sermons  in  stones,  etc."  ?  Is  it  not  cov- 
ered over  with  diagrams  and  parables  and  emblems? 
Is  there  a  thing  that  blooms  or  fades  that  does  not 
preach  its  silent  sermon  to  the  listening  ear  ?  Do  not 
the  deep-set  rocks  and  the  giant  mountains  become  to  us 
speaking  types  of  the  deep-set  foundations  of  justice, 
and  the  towering  greatness  of  incorruptible  virtue  ? 
What  is  history,  as  generations  make  it  and  write  it,  but 
just  the  register  of  human  attainment — the  scholarship 
of  those  who  have  learned  to  teach  others  and  become 
eminent  themselves,  or  who  have  excelled  in  mischief  ? 
What  do  these  centuries  turn  out  but  the  graduates  of 
probation — and  what  is  experience  working  out  every 
day,  even  where  human  science  is  unknown,  but  new 
measures  of  moral  attainment  ?  A  man  may  succeed  or 
fail  in  business,  he  may  be  distinguished  or  obscure,  but 
one  thing  is  always  true  of  him,  he  is  receiving  a  moral 
education.  He  is  under  discipline.  He  is  studying  the 
fruits  of  good  and  evil  deeds.  His  eye  is  directed  in- 
evitably at  the  career  and  fate  of  others,  and  he  is  forced 
to  consider  what  will  be  the  consequence  of  his  own 
action.  Thus  is  he  forced  to  deliberate,  to  weigh  mo- 


THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE.  83 

lives,  to  calculate  results.  This  is  true  of  all,  and  almost 
the  only  thing  that  is.  How  it  proclaims  the  nature  and 
scope  of  our  existence  here !  Just  as  the  scholar  would 
attain  the  ends  of  scholarship,  just  as  he  feels  that  for 
these  he  seeks  the  halls  of  science  and  learning,  and  that 
sportive  indolence  and  dissipation  are  foreign  to  his  pur- 
pose, and  that  rich  dress  and  sumptuous  feasts  cannot 
promote  it — so  we,  pupils  under  God's  tuition,  are  edu- 
cating for  moral  ends,  are  under  discipline  to  learn 
lessons  of  truth  and  duty,  to  perfect  ourselves  in  virtue, 
to  become  such  in  life  and  character  as  to  justify  the 
outlay  for  the  advantages  we  enjoy,  and  the  price  of 
divine  tuition. 

And  what  a  new  force  and  pertinency  is  given  to  this 
thouglit  when  we  consider  how  short  our  stay  here  on 
earth  is?  A  few  years  at  school  or  college  seem  to  those 
who  look  back  on  them  from  the  distance  as  a  type  of 
life  itself.  We  stay  here  only  to  be  educated — only  to 
complete  our  moral  lessons,  only  just  long  enough  to 
make  it  plain  that  we  have  improved  our  privileges,  or 
that  we  never  would  if  they  were  prolonged  a  thousand 
years.  And  then  we  go  away.  We  go  as  the  scholar 
does,  carrying  away  nothing  but  just  his  education  itself. 
He  sells  his  furniture,  quits  his  room,  parts,  perhaps, 
with  his  books,  breaks  off  from  all  his  old  associations, 
bids  farewell  to  all  his  intimate  companions,  and  goes 
forth  without  any  visible  remnant  of  all  his  toil  and 
application,  to  what  is  as  it  were  a  new  world.  The 
result  of  all  his  efforts  is  to  be  found  in  himself  alone,  in 
his  knowledge,  his  disciplined  powers,  his  education — in 
nothing  you  can  weigh  or  handle,  or  offer  for  sale  in  the 
market. 

And  who  can  fail  to  see  the  parallel  of  our  life  ?    Is 


84  LIFE  LESSONS. 

it  not  stupid  not  to  see  the  difference  between  a  well- 
stored  study  and  a  well-stored  mind?  And  is  it  not 
stupid  not  to  see  that  our  privileges  on  earth  are 
valueless  except  as  they  educate  the  soul  and  discipline  ' 
it  for  moral  service,  and  fit  it,  as  it  bids  farewell  to 
earthly  associations,  to  enter  upon  others  more  enduring, 
fitted  already  for  the  world  for  which  it  was  preparing 
here. 

Now  suppose  a  man  reasoning  from  the  facts  of  his 
own  experience,  to  come  to  such  a  conclusion  as  this, 
and  then  to  fall  as  it  were  accidentally  upon  the  word 
of  God,  even  without  knowing  it  as  yet  to  be  divine— 
what,  as  he  peruses  it,  will  be  the  impression  it  will 
make  ?  Will  it  not  rivet  his  conclusions,  yet  infinitely 
enlarge  his  views  ?  Will  it  not  put  beyond  all  doubt 
the  question  as  to  life  and  its  meaning?  Will  it  not 
force  him  to  say — "  I  am  here  to  prepare  for  a  higher  | 
life  ?  I  am  here  a  probationer  for  eternity.  The  great  I 
end  for  which  the  world  has  been  made  and  man  placed 
on  it,  is  to  be  attained  by  the  shaping  and  education  of 
the  soul,  and  responsible  for  this,  I  am  bound  to  make  it 
my  first  and  greatest  care." 

Nay,  will  he  not  feel  that  the  only  real  good  of  life 
must  be  sought  in  the  attainment  of  the  end  for  which  it  •. 
was  bestowed  ?     Must  he  not  count  everything  else  sub-y 
ordinate  to  this  ?    Must  he  not  feel  that  it  becomes  him 
above    all   to   apply  himself    to  understand  in  what  a 
proper  education  for  eternity  consists,  and  what  is  the 
.  method  by  which  it  is  to  be  secured  ? 


XL 

IGNORANCE    OF   THE    GOOD   OF   LIFE. 

• 

"  Who  knoweth  what  is  good  for  man  in  this  life  ?" — EC.  vi.  12. 

IF  a  little  child  should  assume  to  set  aside  all  control 
and  educate  and  govern  itself — if  it  should  be  allowed 
to  indulge  without  restraint  its  likes  and  dislikes — it 
would  shortly  become  a  little  willful  tyrant,  a  specimen 
of  ripe,  full-grown  depravity.  His  will  would  not  only 
master  his  own  judgment  and  conscience,  but  would  spurn 
alike  the  counsel  and  the  authority  of  others.  He  would 
present  an  embodied  definition  of  the  folly  and  the  wick- 
edness of  human  nature  left  to  itself. 

The  result  is  due  to  two  causes,  though  they  co-operate 
as  one,  like  the  weight  and  the  speed  of  stroke  in  the 
momentum  of  a  murderer's  club — one  is  the  child's  abso- 
lute ignorance  of  what  is  best  for  itself,  and  the  other  is 
his  indisposition  to  the  good  even  when  he  knows  it — 
that  is,  his  perverting  persuasion  that  what  he  wishes  is 
best,  and  that  what  he  dislikes  is  evil. 

But  men  are  only  children  of  a  large  growth,  and  in 
them  both  these  causes  are  also  more  or  less  at  work. 
In  our  ignorance  of  what  is  best  for  us,  we  are  too  often 
like  children,  and  in  our  attempt  to  make  that  our  good, 
by  the  force  of  will,  which  can  only  tend  to  mischief,  we 
act  the  part  of  children  whose  erring  fancies  tempt  us  to 
smile,  or  whose  more  deliberate  errors  we  sternly  correct. 

(85) 


86  LIFE  LESSONS. 

A  child  wants  certain  toys.  He  gets  them  ;  per- 
haps pays  an  exorbitant  price  for  them.  How  soon  they 
lose  all  their  charms,  and  are  cast  by  as  rubbish.  Who 
does  not  read  in  that  a  parable  of  more  advanced  years, 
men  seeking  certain  objects  to  insure  their  happiness,  but 
soon  satiated,  and  casting  them  aside  as  unsatisfactory. 

The  child  sees  a  beautiful  butterfly  and  chases  it. 
Only  to  secure  it  will  fill  his  eager  desire*  He  follows 
it  perhaps  in  vain,  or  if  he  grasps  it,  he  crushes  the  frail 
treasure  which  is  cruelly  injured.  What  is  this  but  the 
chase  of  men  for  the  objects  of  ambition. 

A  little  child  has  two  large  apples  given  it.  Benjamin 
Franklin,  to  teach  a  lesson,  says,  give  it  another.  In 
trying  to  grasp  the  third,  it  loses  both.  What  is  this 
but  human  avarice  grasping  more  than  it  can  hold,  not 
satisfied  with  enough,  and  losing  what  it  has  to  gain 
more  ? 

Again,  the  child  longs  for  some  toy  which  it  is  not  fit 
to  manage,  a  knife  or  a  pistol,  or  some  such  dangerous 
thing.  It  gets  it  only  to  maim  itself  and  bitterly  regret 
that  its  wishes  were  ever  gratified,  or  that  its  parents 
ever  indulged  its  wild  humor. 

Still  again,  it  longs  for  something  that  shall  minister 
to  its  vanity,  some  ornament  or  some  article  of  rich 
clothing.  It  moves  abroad  in  its  rich  array,  feeding  on 
the  admiration  it  excites,  and  its  thoughts  are  set  on  the 
light  trivialities  of  dress,  or  the  praise  or  notice  which 
these  follies  may  secure.  Who  can  tell  the  mischief  that 
is  thus  done  ?  Who  can  tell  how  long  that  moral  poison 
of  vanity  and  self-conceit,  that  is  thus  introduced,  will 
rankle  in  the  soul  ?  But  how  much  more  dignified  or 
becoming  are  the  thoughts  of  thousands  who  are  eager 
for  display,  or  who  seek  the  praise  and  honor  of  men ! 


IGNORANCE  OF  THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE.  87 

Many  a  one  that  attains  these  is  intoxicated  by  them,  and 
only  acts  the  part  of  a  gaudy  human  peacock,  to  the  dis- 
gust of  thoughtful  and  the  pity  of  anxious  observers. 

How  often  does  one  say  to  himself,  if  I  could  only  at- 
tain such  a  position  I  should  be  satisfied  and  happy. 
He  struggles  for  it.  He  sacrifices  his  peace  to  gain  it. 
Perhaps  he  condescends  to  mean  or  dishonorable  acts  ;  he 
risks  and  perhaps  loses  his  reputation  for  fairness  and 
honorable  dealing  to  attain  it.  And  after  it  is  gained, 
it  only  draws  him  into  the  very  path  of  the  tempter.  It 
throws  him  into  the  society  of  the  unprincipled  or  in- 
temperate or  profane  to  which  he  feels  forced  to  conform. 
Henceforth  his  path  is  downward,  and  the  career  to  ruin 
dates  from  the  very  success  which  he  coveted.  If  his 
aims  had  been  defeated,  he  might  have  died  an  honest 
man. 

It  is  the  story  of  the  gambler's  first  success  over  again. 
He  is  lured  to  his  ruin.  He  sees  what  he  calls  good, 
and  eager  to  grasp  it  plunges  over  a  precipice. 

Many  a  man  might  have  lived  safe  and  useful  in  some 
humble  sphere  where  Providence  had  cast  his  lot.  He 
might  have  been  happy  there.  But  restless  and  dissatis- 
fied he  flies  from  one  object  to  another.  He  climbs  some 
strange  height  to  be  dizzied  there.  He  plunges  into 
some  mine  of  intrigue  only  to  be  smothered  in  its  stifling 
damps.  He  hurries  from  one  enterprise  to  another  only 
to  fail  in  all,  and  pile  wreck  on  wreck. 

But  suppose  a  man  by  shrewdness  and  energy  to  suc- 
ceed in  all  he  undertakes — suppose  him  to  become  all 
that  his  worldly  ambition  could  covet.  Is  that  best  for 
him  ?  Has  he  the  true  good  ?  His  short  years  know 
scarcely  a  sorrow  or  disappointment.  He  is  like  Job  in 
his  first  prosperous  estate.  Thousands  perhaps  regard 


gg  LIFE  LE880NS. 

him  with  envy.  They  see  not  the  secret  cares  that  are 
wrinkling  his  brow.  They  read  not  the  inward  wretch- 
edness that  can  wring  so  little  happiness  out  of  such 
large  possessions  and  such  marked  triumphs. 

But  what  does  it  all  amount  to  when  a  few  years  are 
flown — when  the  hand  trembles  and  the  steps  totter. 
Perhaps  this  present  good  kept  a  future  and  eternal  good 
out  "of  sight.  Perhaps  the  man  was  so  well  satisfied  with 
what  he  had,  that  he  sought  no  more.  He  had  houses, 
but  no  conscious  title  to  a  house  not  made  with  hands. 
He  had  wealth,  and  that  deluded  him  into  neglect  of  the 
treasure  laid  up  in  heaven.  He  had  the  respect  of  men, 
and  that  allowed  him  to  think  lightly  of  the  honor  that 
cometli  from  God  only.  Too  late  he  wakes  up  to  the 
fact  that  he  is  poor  in  all  that  constitutes  the  riches  of 
the  soul,  unprosperous  in  all  that  constitutes  true  success. 
His  prospect  is  dark  as  the  grave  that  no  promise  illumi- 
nates. He  has  no  hope.  He  has  no  trust  or  peace  in 
God.  He  feels,  if  there  is  a  judgment  to  come,  he  is  all 
unprepared  for  it.  If  there  is  a  future  retribution,  lie 
can  only  fear.  How,  perhaps,  he  envies  the  poor  invalid 
that  is  dependent  on  charity  for  bread  or  a  grain  of 
comfort!  How  he  exclaims — "  0  that  I  had  never  known 
such  success  as  I  have  met  with,  such  rewards  as  I  have 
gained.  In  a  harder  lot  I  had  been  a  better  man.  Un- 
der the  smart  of  affliction,  my  pride  had  been  humbled 
and  I  had  been  taught  to  rely  on  God." 

How  this  reminds  us  of  the  lament  which  Milton  puts 
in  the  mouth  of  the  great  fallen  arch-angel : 

"O  had  his  powerful  destiny  ordained 
Me  some  inferior  angel,  I  had  stood 
Then  happy;  no  unbounded  hope  had  raised 
Ambition." 


IGNORANCE  OF  THE  GOOD  Off  LIFE.  89 

No  man— so  far  as  worldly  attainments  or  possessions 
are  concerned — can  tell  what  is  best  for  him.  The 
tilings  he  covets  most  may  do  him  the  greatest  harm. 
They  may  be  the  very  ones  which,  if  he  could  see  the 
end  from  the  beginning,  he  would  pray  to  be  delivered 
from.  Sometimes  his  prize  turns  out  to  be  an  infernal 
machine.  His  arts  of  gain  prove  the  rust  that  eats  his 
soul  as  it  were  fire.  The  society  which  he  successfully 
aspires  to  secure,  is  but  an  honorable  escort  to  dissipation 
and  perdition.  His  very  genius,  securing  him  the  ap- 
plause of  others,  is  only  the  rocket's  blaze  lighting  him 
up  to  heights  from  which  pitying  eyes  shall  mark  his 
fall.  In  the  end  it  may  even  be,  and  sometimes  is  the 
case,  that  he  would  give  all  his  wealth  and  honors  just 
to  be  put  back  where  he  might  begin  anew  a  different 
life.  Like  Richard  Cour  de  Lion  at  his  father's  bier,  he 
feels  all  the  sad  regret  compressed  in  those  stinging,  re- 
morseful words : 

"Alas,  my  guilty  pride  and  ire! 
Were  but  this  deed  undone, 
I  would  give  England's  crown,  ray  sire, 
To  hear  thee  bless  thy  son." 

If  one  thinks  of  the  life  to  come,  to  how  brief  a  space 
does  this  vain  life,  transient  and  fleeting  as  a  vapor, 
shrink !  How  unimportant  appear  its  outward  circum- 
stances !  What  matters  it  to  the  sojourner  for  the  night 
whether  the  roof  that  shelters  him  is  canvas  or  a  dome 
of  gold  ?  What  matters  it  to  him  that  no  sumptuous 
feast  frowns  contempt  on  his  meaner  fare  ?  These  years 
fly  by  like  the  wastes  of  the  traveller's  journey,  and  as 
each  day  vanishes,  how  little  concern  does  its  show  or 
parade  excite  ?  For  a  little  while  to  be  cheered  or  hissed 


90  LIFE  LESSONS. 

for  a  little  while  to  be  in  want  or  to  abound,  for  a  little 
while  to  stand  on  the  pinnacle  or  in  the  valley — what 
does  this  amount  to  ?  And  who  knows  which  is  best  in 
the  end  ?  To  be  where  the  lightning  strikes — to  have 
that  as  an  ornament  which  grows  into  a  cross,  heavy  to 
be  borne — to  be  one  of  a  circle  which  are  linked  together 
to  drag  one  another  downward — who  might  not  pray, 
from  all  this,  "  Good  Lord  deliver  us  ?"  The  steep  path 
which  energy  may  climb  may  be  edged  with  the  precipice. 
The  sumptuous  fare  that  appetite  craves  may  confirm  a 
glutton.  The  sunshine  of  prosperity  may  wilt  and  wither 
the  fresh,  green  hopes  that  would  have  thriven  in  the 
shade. 

The  wisdom  of  man  is  to  confess  that  so  far  as  worldly 
circumstances  are  concerned,  he  does  not  know  what  is 
best  for  him.  A  nation  does  not  know.  Judah  in  cap- 
tivity was  learning  lessons  that  restored  her  to  the  favor 
of  her  offended  God.  The  civil  war  of  England  was  the 
stern  discipline  that  bore  fruit  a  generation  later  in  the 
Revolution  Settlement  and  Act  of  Toleration.  We  are 
passing  now  through  the  Red  Sea  and  Desert  of  our 
history.  Who  can  tell  whether  hereafter  even  short- 
sighted men  shall  not  pronounce  it  the  most  important 
and  profitable  period  of  our  career,  teaching  us  lessons 
that  would  have  been  too  faint-lined  unless  written  in 
blood ! 

So  no  man  can  say  that  his  hardest  trials  are  not  the 
most  profitable  for  him.  No  man  can  fix  his  heart  on 
any  worldly  good  whatever,  whether  of  property  or  sta- 
tion or  knowledge  or  power,  and  say,  That  will  bless  me  ; 
that  will  make  me  ha,ppy.  There  is  nothing  left  for  us 
but  to  bow  our  ignorance  in  the  dust  before  God's  infinite 
wisdom,  and  to  say  like  the  child  conscious  of  his  weak- 


IGNORANCE  OF  THE  GOOD  OF  LIFE.  91 

ness,  Lead  me  as  thou  wilt,  I  know  not  what  to  ask. 
Not  my  will,  but  thine. 

Yet  is  there  no  good  that  is  such  beyond  all  question- 
ing or  doubt  ?  Is  there  not  something  attainable  by  man 
in  this  his  brief,  vain  life,  which  by  the  concession  of  all 
is  of  vast  importance,  and  of  unutterable  value — some- ; 
thing  which  is  not  granted  merely  to  a  favored  few,  the 
exclusive  favorites  of  fortune,  but  which  the  poor  and 
rich,  the  learned  and  ignorant  alike  may  be  warranted 
to  seek?  Is  there  not  something  which  is  to  all  outward 
blessings  like  the  wheat  to  the  chaff,  like  the  gold  to  the 
dross  I  Is  there  not  something  without  which  a  Croesus 
is  but  an  object  of  pity,  and  with  which  a  Lazarus  might 
be  the  envy  of  kings  ? 

I  had  not  completed  writing  the  foregoing  paragraph 
when  I  received  a  letter  written  by  one  who  for  mouths 
had  been  steadily  looking  forward  to  his  decease,  and 
who  while  yet  he  was  able  was  dispensing  charitably  and 
wisely  the  wealth  with  which  God  had  blessed  him,  in 
which  he  says — "  My  flesh  and  strength  are  much  wasted, 
and  I  am  very  feeble.  I  can  only  walk  or  tottle  to  my 
chair.  .  .  .  But  I  feel  calm  and  resigned.  .  .  .  My 
Saviour  appears  beautiful  and  glorious  to  me.  The  Gos- 
pel and  the  promises  thereof  never  looked  better  or 
brighter.  There  is  full  provision  for  all  our  wants." 
The  questions  of  that  paragraph  were  thus  answered — 
ere  they  were  asked — by  this  testimony  from  the  bed  of 
a  dying  saint.  It  was  testimony  from  a  truthful  pen — a 
pen  tremulous  in  the  feeble  grasp  that  held  it,  but  clear 
and  unhesitating  in  its  avowals.  "Was  there  room  longer 
to  ask  whether — in  this  brief,  vain  life  of  man — there  is 
not  something  attainable  which  is  of  vast  importance  and 
infinite  value  ?  Was  there  room  to  question  the  supe- 


yz  LIFE  LESSONS. 

riority  to  all  things  else  of  a  living  faith  in  the  Son  of 
God  ?  The  testimony  only  added  another  drop  to  the 
full  overflowing  stream  of  evidence.  It  was  but  one 
more  voice  confirmatory  of  the  chorus  of  the  "  great  cloud 
of  witnesses."  We  know,  that  ignorant  as  we  are  of 
what  is  best  for  us  as  to  our  outward  lot,  there  is  a  good, 
the  possession  of  which  may  well  make  the  soul  forget 
all  earthly  want. 

Most  assuredly  there  is.  There  is  a  good  without 
alloy — which  does  not  betray  with  a  kiss,  which  does 
not  offer  a  cup  of  blessing  drugged  with  woe.  It  is 
religion — pure  and  undefiled — that  religion  which  bears 
the  fruits  of  hope,  faith,  love  and  joy.  Its  presence  makes 
the  heaven  of  the  soul  even  in  this  vale  of  tears.  It  gives 
us  God  for  our  present  and  everlasting  portion.  It  sanc- 
tifies sorrow,  and  roofs  the  wanderer's  unsheltered  head 
with  the  guardianship  of  Jehovah.  It  is  a  possession 
which  no  man  ever  regrets.  It  leaves  no  sting  in  the 
memory,  no  gnawing  worm  in  the  conscience. 

And  it  is  offered  to  all.  It  is  offered  to  you.  It  is 
urged  upon  your  acceptance.  You  are  besought  by  all 
that  is  precious  in  hope  or  fearful  in  judgment  to  make 
it  yours.  The  price  that  purchased  it  was  the  blood  of 
God's  own  Son.  Are  you  eager  for  worldly  good — for 
ease  or  comfort?  Let  them  go,  till  this  is  secured. 
They  are  but  straws,  while  this  is  the  everlasting  crown, 


XII. 

NEED    OF    A    EEVELATION. 

(t  A  light  shining  in  a  dark  place." — 2  PETER  i.  19. 

EVEN  a  heathen,  with  the  ripe  fruits  of  Christian  ex- 
perience before  him,  may  feel  and  acknowledge  that 
the  true  good  of  man  is  not  of  a  material  but  a  spiritual 
nature.  He  may  be  led  freely  to  confess  that  the  path 
of  holiness  is  the  path  of  blessedness.  A  voice  within 
his  own  soul  may  respond  its  amen  to  this  conviction. 
But  without  the  results  of  a  Christian  life  before  him, 
would  he  ever  have  discovered  the  true  good  of  man,  or 
have  been  won  by  the  attractions  of  holiness  ? 

A  man  may  accept  unhesitatingly  the  results  of  astro- 
nomical research,  and  he  may  hold  the  convictions  which 
the  revelations  of  others  have  wrought  in  him,  with  un- 
shaken tenacity.  He  may  see  and  feel  their  truth,  while 
yet  by  his  own  unaided  efforts  he  never  could  have  at- 
tained to  an  apprehension  of  them.  It  is  not  so  with  the 
conclusions  of  our  moral  and  spiritual  astronomy  ?  Rea- 
son may  be  utterly  inadequate  to  discern  truths  which 
when  once  disclosed,  seem  to  carry  their  own  evidence 
with  them,  and  which  the  conscience  of  the  little  child 
accepts  unquestioningly  as  the  simplest  spiritual  axioms. 
Yet  let  us  by  no  means  depreciate  that  elementary  knowl- 
edge of  God — that  A,  B,  C,  of  theology — or  those  mono- 
syllables which  reason  spells  out  on  the  pages  of  creation. 
All  this  is  valuable.  As  reason's  alphabet,  it  is  inestiina- 

(93) 


94 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


bly  precious,  and  yet  it  is  only  an  introduction  to  our 
ignorance.  It  gives  hints  and  suggestions  of  problems, 
buried  deep  beyond  the  reach  of  reason's  plummet.  It 
catches  a  view  of  the  great  and  ominous  shadows,  cast 
around  our  path.,  from  the  realities  of  the  invisible  world, 
and  only  spurs  our  curiosity — and  our  interest  too — to 
know  more  about  them  than  reason  teaches.  For  beings 
that  are  by  their  very  nature  and  constitution,  accounta- 
ble, we  are  possessed  even  by  reason's  light,  of  a  fearful 
mass  of  knowledge — enough  to  make  us  tremble  at  what 
we  are — and  are  to  be — enough  to  render  our  guilt  inex- 
cusable and  our  condemnation  just — but  not  enough  to 
assure  us  of  hope,  or  clearly  define  the  objects  of  our  faith. 
Our  condition  in  the  absence  of  revelation  is  that  of  a 
man  groping  in  the  dark,  feeling  his  way,  and  by  the  slow 
and  tedious  process  of  touch,  learning  what  the  light 
might  teach  him  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  The  Gospel 
is  therefore  preeminently  "a  light  shining  in  a  dark 
place.7' 

The  feebleness  with  which  reason  apprehends — if  at 
all — some  of  the  most  important  subjects  of  human  thought 
and  destiny,  calls  for  a  revelation  that  shall  make  them 
plain.  Here  in  this  world,  with  Nature's  lamp  only  to 
guide,  we  are  like  the  traveller  groping  his  way  at  mid- 
night with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  now  climbing  the 
almost  precipitous  height,  now  gliding  along  the  edge  of 
chasms,  or  sinking  in  the  bog  and  marsh,  till  his  limbs 
are  weary  and  his  patience  worn  out,  and  his  success 
more  than  doubtful.  We  feel  that  we  want  the  broad 
light  of  the  noonday  sun,  flung  in  a  flood  of  splendor  over 
hill  and  valley,  lofty  crag  and  deep  ravine,  till  the  whole 
landscape  stands  out  distinct  to  the  eye,  and  the  path  we 
are  to  take  is  clearly  and  fully  before  us.  It  is  true 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION. 


95 


there  are  some  eyes  that  can  see  better  in  the  dark  than 
others  ;  there  are  some  minds  that  might  have  read  by 
reason's  aid  far  more  than  others  ;  spelling  out  important 
truths  inscribed  in  hieroglyphics  on  the  ruins  of  this  great 
temple  of  our  human  nature.  But  such  minds  are  few, 
and  even  they  see  very  indistinctly,  and  when  pride  does 
not  forbid  it,  speak  like  Socrates  of  old  with  the  full  con- 
fession of  their  ignorance  and  doubt.  Let  one  grope  for 
a  while  under  the  guidance  of  the  ancient  philosophers, 
and  he  will  begin  to  learn  the  value  of  a  solid  basis  of 
knowledge  and  a  definite  apprehension  of  the  state,  object^ 
and  prospects  of  human  existence.  There  are  questions 
Innumerable  that  throng  about  our  path,  asking  for  a 
solution,  and  the  oracles  of  reason  are  well  nigh  dumb, 
or  if  they  speak,  they  are  but  Delphic  shrines.  Even  the 
probabilities,  which  we  settle  down  upon,  are  shaken  by 
counter-probabilities,  or  if  undisputed,  ask  for  a  clearer 
confirmation.  Reason  tells  me  there  is  a  God,  but  how 
worthless  is  that  great  fact,  till  I  know  what  he  is,  and 
learn  his  disposition  toward  me !  By  Nature's  light  I 
can  discover  my  own  dependence  and  subjection  to  law, 
but  I  ask,  in  vain,  for  the  clear  and  definite  idea  of  that 
moral  government  which  is  over  me,  and  there  is  even 
room  to  question  how  far  I  shall  be  held  responsible. 
From  the  works  and  providence  of  God  I  discern  a  gene- 
ral expression  of  his  friendliness  to  virtue  and  reproba- 
tion of  vice,  but  how  far  this  is  to  take  effect  hereafter  I 
cannot  tell.  Reason  teaches  me  that  I  am  a  fallen  being 
— a  transgressor  of  the  law,  and  throws  out  many  hints 
of  how  terrible  a  thing  it  is  for  any  one  to  place  himself 
in  the  way  where  the  wheels  of  God's  legislation  shall 
roll  over  him,  but  she  is  silent  when  I  ask,  what  is  the 
penalty,  how  enduring,  and  in  what  shape  will  it  come  ? 


96  LIFE  LESSONS. 

No  man  needs  a  labored  instruction  in  regard  to  the  sin 
and  misery  of  the  world.  The  apostacy  of  man  is  sculp- 
tured deep  on  the  heart  and  the  life  of  the  race.  But 
there  is  a  problem  as  to  how  this  guilt  and  woe  shall  be 
removed  and  man  stand  justified  before  his  Maker,  which 
transcends  all  the  powers  of  mortal  discernment.  My 
own  constitution,  speaking  through  its  aspirations  and 
instincts,  tells  me  that  I  was  made  for  happiness,  but 
nature  shows  me  nothing  worthy  to  feed  this  inward  hun- 
ger— she  opens  no  path  to  that  blessedness  for  which  I 
feel  that  I  was  made.  Reason  teaches  me  how  guilt  is 
incurred,  and  that  condemnation  may  not  improbably 
fall  upon  me,  but  says  nothing  of  any  full  assurance  of  par- 
don and  deliverance  from  the  curse.  No  man  needs  to 
teach  me  that  the  world  is  full  of  want  and  anguish,  mis- 
fortune, pain  and  disappointment,  but  I  do  ask  for  a  solu- 
tion that  shall  reconcile  all  this  with  the  character  I  love 
to  ascribe  to  my  Maker — -and  reason  fails  in  the  attempt 
to  furnish  it.  Surmise  and  probability  are  not  enough. 
Exposed  every  moment  as  we  are  to  accident  and  death, 
we  want  a  ground  for  the  assurance  that  our  present 
afflictions  are  light — light  because  they  shall  work  out 
for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory. 
The  light  of  nature  suggests,  and  to  some  minds  doubt- 
less, enforces  the  conviction  of  a  future  judgment,  but  the 
great  features  of  this  foreshadowed  fact  are  only  to  be 
found  on  the  pages  of  Revelation.  We  may  gather  up 
also  many  hints  in  regard  to  a  future  state  from  the  aid 
of  reason — but  still  we  want  something  to  scatter  the 
dimness  of  doubt,  and  bring  life  and  immortality  to  light. 
We  may  puzzle  ourselves  not  always  vainly,  but  most  un- 
satisfactorily, over  the  strange  methods  of  that  Provi- 
dence which  distributes  the  allotments  of  life  in  seemingly 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION.  97 

unequal  measure — but  we  feel  that  we  want  a  revelation 
to  clear  up  all,  and  make  our  faith  intelligent  and  firm. 
The  picture  of  a  thoughtful  man  in  the  mazes  of  igno- 
rance, seeking  to  understand  himself  and  God,  but  seek- 
ing in  vain  for  the  want  of  light,  is  exceedingly  affecting. 
But  is  that  of  the  thoughtless  multitude  less  so,  blindly 
acquiescent  in  their  ignorance,  and  dropping  into  their 
graves  insensible  as  the  brutes,  and  making  death,  the 
catastrophe  and  issue  of  a  dream?  It  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  the  human  mind  lightly  to  be  satisfied  on  themes 
of  such  importance  as  those  which  should  naturally  form 
the  burden  of  a  Revelation,  and  which  so  intimately  con- 
cern all  that  we  have  to  hope  or  fear  forever.  We  want 
the  dim  and  shadowy  outline  to  become  distinct.  We 
want  the  fleeting  shapes  and  coloring  that  pass  before  us 
in  the  prospect,  arrested,  and  fixed  down  visible  and 
definite,  giving  substance  to  the  transient  imagery,  that 
sweeps  before  the  field  of  our  reflection. 

For  a  mind  constitutionally  timid  and  distrustful,  the 
light  of  Nature  furnishes  but  a  feeble  solace.  It  is  more 
inclined  to  look  on  the  dark  than  on  the  light  side,  and 
dwell  on  the  extent  of  our  ignorance  rather  than  the 
reach  of  our  knowledge. 

What  must  be  the  reflections  of  such  a  mind  scarcely 
venturing  to  rest  on  the  bare  probabilities  with  which 
it  is  forced  to  be  satisfied?  Yet  with  them  alone,  and 
holding  them  too  by  an  uncertain  tenure,  it  looks  around 
it  in  the  absence  of  revelation,  upon  the  great  mystery  of 
life  and  probation. 

Every  question  it  asks,  every  struggle  after  a  firm  foot- 
ing which  it  puts  forth,  only  sinks  it  deeper  in  the  mire. 
It  dares  not  trust  even  its  clearest  and  boldest  reasonings. 
Perhaps  it  has  once  relied  upon  a  fallacy,  and  past  expe- 
5 


98  LIFE  LESSONS. 

rience  of  its  error  confirms  its  tendency  to  doubt.  It 
looks  about  it  like  a  solitary  traveller  who  has  lost  his 
way  in  the  wilderness,  and  vainly  searches  after  a  fami- 
liar object,  some  track  or  tree,  or  distant  hill-top  that 
shall  furnish  a  clew  to  extricate  him  from  error.  The 
questions  are  innumerable  that  throng  upon  the  mind. 
It  finds  itself  on  this  broad  ocean  of  being,  without  chart 
or  compass,  or  experience,  with  the  broad  bright  heavens 
indeed  above,  but  with  none  to  translate  their  mysteries, 
with  none  to  point  to  Bethlehem's  guiding  star.  The 
facts  that  are  plain  only  make  the  mystery  of  man's  state 
still  more  wonderful  and  trying.  He  lives,  to  die.  He 
looks  forward,  to  fear.  He  reasons,  to  tremble.  He 
hopes,  to  apprehend  disappointment.  "  What  am  I,"  he 
asks,  "  what  is  the  object  of  my  being,  what  my  state, 
what  my  relations  to  a  surrounding  universe,  what  my 
prospects  for  the  present  or  the  future  ?  My  present 
home  is  a  world  of  graves  where  the  survivors  dance 
over  the  dust  of  the  departed,  and  where  death  and  life 
meet  in  a  strangely  near  relationship.  I  too  am  mortal, 
and  when  my  body  crumbles  to  the  dust  where  will  my 
spirit  go  ?  Will  that  too  be  dissolved  or  absorbed,  sent 
forth  an  everlasting  and  homeless  wanderer,  or  impris- 
oned in  chains  of  darkness  ?  If  it  survives,  on  what  sort 
of  a  field  will  it  enter,  with  what  associates  will  it  min- 
gle, or  what  will  be  the  nature  of  its  employment ;  will 
it  be  happy  or  wretched,  will  it  live  over  again  such  a 
life  as  it  lived  on  earth,  or  a  far  higher  and  nobler  one  ? 
or  possibly  one  far  subordinate  and  degraded  ?  Shall  it 
ascend  or  descend,  rise  to  the  angel  or  sink  to  the  clod  ? 
In  what  will  the  nature  and  object  of  it  consist,  will  it 
be  spiritual,  refined,  and  holy,  or  polluted,  sensual,  and 
brutish  ?  Will  it  carry  with  it  there  the  taint  of  earth, 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION. 


99 


and  be  followed  by  its  works,  and  words,  and  thoughts, 
as  persecuting  avengers?  What  is  the  connection  be- 
tween this  life  and  that  to  come,  and  what  shape  shall  be 
given  to  this,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  room  for  after  and 
vain  regret  ?  Where  can  a  sufficient  guide  be  found  in 
our  error,  a  sufficient  remedy  in  our  disease,  a  support  in 
the  hour  when  heart  and  flesh  shall  fail  ?" 

To  these  interrogations  and  a  thousand  others,  reason 
makes  no  full,  no  clear  reply.  She  surmises  ;  sums  up 
probabilities  ;  forecasts  results  ;  but  pronounces  nothing 
definite  and  certain,  ventures  no  direct  assertion,  but 
leaves  us  still  in  the  attitude  of  expectation  and  suspense. 
We  know  enough  to  excite  our  fears,  to  waken  our  curi- 
osity, to  urge  us  to  investigation,  to  excite  our  apprehen- 
sions, but  just  there  Nature  closes  her  volume,  and  leaves 
us  in  the  dark.  Something  more  is  necessary  now,  than 
would  have  been  if  the  moral  order  of  the  world  had 
never  been  disturbed.  The  clearness  of  our  own  reason 
and  judgment  has  been  somewhat  blinded  in  the  shock. 
We  have  been  disqualified  for  application  to  the  problem 
by  the  same  cause  that  has,  if  not  created  it,  involved  it  in 
deeper  difficulty.  We  cannot  occupy  with  all  the  powers 
of  the  largest  reason,  the  position  which  a  sinless  being 
might,  nor  are  we  prepared  by  nature's  light  to  say  what 
course  the  infinite  wisdom  of  God  will  adopt,  or  what  his 
measures  will  be  in  regard  to  us  in  this  unprecedented 
state  of  things  to  which  the  world  has  been  brought  by  sin. 

And  as  we  might  beforehand  suppose  the  light  of  nat- 
ural reason  insufficient,  experience  has  proved  it  to  be  so. 
"  The  world  by  wisdom  knew  not  God."  Every  page 
of  the  history  of  the  race  demonstrates  our  need  of  a 
revelation.  Its  enlightening,  its  purifying,  its  restraining 
influences  were  all  called  for.  Read  the  popular  mythol- 


loo  LIFE  LESSONS. 


ogies,  we  can  hardly  call  them  religious  systems,  of 
tbe  Old  World,  and  see  what  vast  magazines  they  were, 
of  wayward  fancy  and  distorted  truth,  of  cruel  supersti- 
tion and  grossest  error,  yet  swaying  the  minds  of  men  by  , 
their  strange  and  terrible  spell.  They  were  evidently 
the  growth  of  darkness,  of  ignorant  fear,  or,  possibly, 
sometimes  of  ingenious  and  tyrannic  fraud.  They  were 
limited  to  no  one  age  or  nation.  They  disgraced  the 
fame  of  Greece  and  the  civilization  and  learning  of 
Rome,  as  well  as  the  pride  of  Egypt  and  the  fame  of  the 
warrior  race  of  Odin.  In  here  and  there  an  instance,  no 
doubt,  their  authority  was  repudiated,  but  the  exceptions 
were  rare.  Take  up  the  writings  of  the  wisest  men  of 
antiquity,  and  see  how  they  stumbled  on  some  of  those 
elementary  principles  of  religious  knowledge  which  pass 
unquestioned  even  by  the  modern  sceptic.  These  truths 
on  which  they  doubted  are  some  of  them  such  that  the 
simple  statement  of  them  carries  with  it  well  nigh  the 
power  of  demonstration.  And  yet  if  no  revelation  came, 
no  clear  and  plain  instruction  of  God  and  His  will,  how 
long  would  these  errors  maintain  their  hold  ?  We  know 
that  of  old  they  yielded  only  as  Christianity  progressed, 
and  they  yield  to-day  as  they  did  then,  not  to  the  ridicule 
of  a  Lucian,  or  the  contempt  of  philosophers,  but  to  the 
light  of  the  Gospel.  The  most  odious  and  horrid  vices 
disgraced  the  noonday  of  Roman  and  Grecian  achieve- 
ment, and  were  intimately  associated  oftentimes  with  tbe 
celebration  of  their  mysteries  and  religious  rites.  By* 
their  most  distinguished  men,  they  were  sometimes 
shamelessly  avowed,  and  formed  a  fitting  counterpart  to 
a  mythology  which  seemed  the  creature  of  a  polluted 
fancy  revelling  in  its  own  shame.  If  the  light  of  reason 
could  have  sufficed,  these  things  should  have  been  as 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION.  101 

transient  before  it  as  the  mists  of  the  morning.  They 
should  not  have  waited  for  the  sun  of  Christianity  to  rise 
and  dispel  them.  But  they  maintained  their  ground  in 
spite  of  art,  learning  and  culture,  till  this  appeared.  Nor 
need  we  be  surprised  at  it.  Look  at  the  most  eminent 
men  of  old  and  see  whether  their  reason  could  have  been 
more  than  a  rushlight  amid  the  darkness  around  them. 
"Epictetus  bids  you  temporize  and  worship  the  gods 
after  the  fashion  of  your  country  ;  Pythagoras  forbids 
you  to  pray  to  God,  because  you  know  not  what  is  con- 
venient. Plutarch  commends  Cato  of  Utica  for  killing 
himself  amidst  philosophic  thoughts,  with  resolution  and 
deliberation,  after  reading  Plato  on  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  Cicero  pleaded  for  self-murder,  in  which  he 
was  seconded  by  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  others  who  prac- 
ticed it.  Customary  swearing  is  commended  sometimes 
by  precept  and  often  by  example  of  their  best  moralists." 
Some  maintained  that  right  and  wrong  were  mere  con- 
ventionalities, just  as  the  Lacedemonians  legislated  in- 
genious theft  into  repute. 

Surely,  with  all  the  wisdom  of  antiquity,  the  knowledge 
of  God  was  not  there,  and  where  is  the  man  to-day  that 
can  point  to  a  tribe  or  nation  that  renounced  idolatry 
till  it  came  in  contact  with  at  least  the  reflected  light  of 
revelation. 

Then  look  at  the  sanctions  and  restraints  of  human 
law,  and  how  weak  they  are  as  well  as  moral  considera- 
tions generally,  till  they  are  enforced  by  the  clearer 
declarations  of  revealed  truth,  quickening  the  public  as 
well  as  private  conscience  to  renewed  sensibility,  and 
rebuking  all  manner  of  crime  by  the  solemn  and  fearful 
expectation  of  a  just  award,  of  sanctions  that  are  drawn 
from  beyond  the  grave. 


oar 


102  LIVE  LESSONS. 

Socially,  intellectually  and  morally,  man  needs  a  reve- 
lation. Nature's  light  is  insufficient.  The  world  has 
proved  it  so.  If  it  bad  not,  our  own  feelings  would  out- 
run the  necessity  of  argument.  We  want  light,  light  to 
shine  in  a  dark  place,  light  for  our  souls. 

And  what  is  it  that  makes  our  want  of  a  revelation  so 
urgent  ?  The  reasons  may  be  found  in  God's  character 
and  man's  condition. 

What  reason  teaches  us  of  God  forbids  us  to  imagine 
that  we  are  placed  here  except  with  a  wise  design.  We 
see  a  plan  apparent  in  all  his  works,  and  man,  too,  ex- 
cept he  be  a  discord  in  the  great  harmony,  has  an  end  to 
subserve.  Unlike  the  physical  and  brute  creation  he  is 
to  be  intelligently  active  in  attaining  it,  and  instruction 
of  some  kind  is  highly  necessary  to  this  end.  He  must 
know  God's  design  in  order  to  be  able  to  enter  into  it 
and  cooperate  with  it,  and  the  perfection  of  this  design 
itself  seems  to  imply  that  he  should  possess  this  know- 
ledge to  such  an  extent  as  to  render  neglect  inex- 
cusable. 

Then  man's  condition,  also,  is  such  as  seems  to  call  for 
the  compassion  of  such  a  thing  as  reason  is  willing  to 
conceive  God  to  be.  There  are  times  when  ignorance  is 
woe,  and  doubt  anguish,  and  when  the  mind  hungering 
for  knowledge  is  as  much  an  object  of  pity,  as  the  poor 
victim  of  disease,  or  the  starving  wretch  pining  for  bread. 
And  what  other  than  this  is  the  state  of  man  when  in  the 
absence  of  revelation  he  becomes  conscious  of  his  want  ? 
Place  him  where  he  is  often  found,  in  circumstances  of 
bitter  trial,  where  one  by  one  each  earthly  hope  fails  him 
till  they  all  give  way,  and  the  forlornness  of  his  lot  sinks 
deep  into  his  soul,  and  with  no  light  or  hope  from  heaven 
what  can  he  do  ?  He  knows  of  nothing  yet  in  reserve  to 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION. 


103 


sustain  him.  The  future  is  all  blackness  unpierced  by  a 
single  cheering  ray.  No  beam  of  hope  traverses  the . 
to  nib  or  smiles  upon  him  from  beyond  the  grave.  He  is 
shut  up  "to  a  present  robbed  of  consolation,  or  given  over 
to  a  future  bounded  by  despair.  What  is  there  now  on 
earth  to  cheer  or  aid  this  struggling  soul  ?  The  stoicism 
of  reason  is  a  poor  physician.  It  nauseates  the  mysteries 
of  science.  All  the  treasures  of  learning  cannot  charm 
away  its  anguish.  It  needs  a  divine  consoler,  it  asks  a 
guide  who  will  show  the  way  from  earth  to  heaven.  It 
is  man's  sensibility  to  his  want  and  woe  that  urges  the 
demand,  a  demand  which  human  wisdom  has  proved  it- 
self unable  to  supply.  We  feel,  after  all,  that  the  sui- 
cide's argument  cannot  satisfy  us,  and  it  poorly  reconciles 
us  to  our  lot,  if  in  the  refuge  of  the  grave  we  are  to  find 
nothing  but  its  oblivion. 

What  again  must  be  the  feelings  of  the  sensitive  mind, 
clinging  with  a  lingering  fondness  to  this  its  conscious 
being,  yet  girt  about  by  the  gloomy  doubts  that  invest 
the  hour  of  its  departure  from  these  scenes  ?  Have  you 
read  the  story  of  the  dying  Hindoo  questioning  his 
jBrahmin  teacher  what  would  become  of  his  soul  after 
death?  The  doctrine  of  its  transmigration  from  one 
body  to  another,  now  tenanting  a  beast,  and  now  a  rep- 
tile, was  but  a  poor  consolation.  No  wonder  he  asks, 
"what  then  will  become  of  it,"  and  with  every  new 
change  continues  still  to  ask, "  what  then  ?"  It  is  very  pos- 
sible for  persons  even  in  a  Christian  land  so  to  shut  out 
the  light  that  shines  around  them  that  their  death  too  is 
heathenized,  and  like  the  dying  Rabelais  they  feel  if  they 
do  not  exclaim,  " I  go  to  seek  a  great  Perhaps"  With- 
out a  faith  whose  eye  is  enlightened  by  revelation,  it 
must  be  so.  How  sad  the  farewell  song  of  its  departure  : 


104  LIFE  LESSONS. 

"  Over  the  dark,  dark  sea 

I  must  go,  for  the  hour  has  come. 
But  where  shall  my  wandering  spirit  rest 
In  its  final  home  ? 

"  My  life  is  a  dim  Perhaps. 

From  the  rock  of  faith  I'm  driven, 
No  shining  light  in  my  clouded  breast, 
No  star  in  heaven. 

"  What  if  this  vital  force 

Shall  be  spent  when  this  last  breath  flies, 
And  thought  and  feeling  vanish  in  night, 
As  the  lightning  dies ! 

44  Or  what  if  the  conscious  soul 

Should  be  damned,  as  was  taught  of  old. 
To  live  in  body  of  bird  or  beast, 
Years  manifold ! 

41  Into  the  gloom  I  go, 

With  perhaps  alone  before, 
The  great  sea  rolling  all  around 
Without  a  shore. 

44  Shall  I  rise  to  the  Christian  world, 

With  the  pure  and  the  good  to  dwell, 
To  live  forever  in  joy  and  love  ? 
I  cannot  tell. 

44  Shall  I  be  hurled  in  wrath 

To  the  penal  flames  below ; 
For  endless  years  to  suffer  and  sin  ? 
It  may  be  so. 

44  Farewell — my  eyes  now  close 

On  the  light  of  the  certain  day ; 
And  into  the  dark  of  death,  my  soul 
Plunges  away." 


NEED  OF  A  REVELATION. 


105 


Who  does  not  feel  all  the  sympathies  of  his  soul  drawn 
forth  toward  the  tried  and  struggling  spirit,  arguing 
with  doubt,  but  arguing  in  vain.  What  want  can  be 
more  trying  than  the  want  of  that  revelation  which  can 
bring  life  and  immortality  to  light,  and  which  solving  the 
puzzle  of  our  being  here,  points  us  to  the  realms  of  glory, 
and  a  home  in  heaven.  With  this,  and  only  with  -this, 
can  we  hope  for  guidance  for  our  stumbling  steps.  On 
our  dark  path  to  eternity  reason  alone  is  but  a  rushlight, 
and  genius  is  but  a  glowworm's  spark.  What  a  question 
then,  with  the  antecedent  probabilities  of  divine  mercy 
and  human  need,  is  this,  Have  we  a  light  to  cheer  and 
guide  us  ?  one  that  God  Himself  has  kindled,  one  by  the 
teachings  of  which  the  once  troubled  soul  can  exclaim  : 

"  But  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying  away ; 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  forlorn ; 
So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  faint  and  astray, 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn. 
See  Truth,  Love  and  Mercy,  in  triumph  descending, 

And  Nature,  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom ; 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  Death,  smiles  and  roses  are  blending, 

And  Beauty  Immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb." 


XIII. 

THE  LAW  OP  NATURE. 

"  The  work  of  the  law  written  in  their  hearts." — ROM.  ii.  15. 

HAS  God  given  a  law  to  men ?  That  is,  has  he 
made  known  rules  of  life  or  action  for  men  to 
which  penalties  are  annexed  ? 

He  has  unquestionably  enacted  what  is  sometimes  called 
"  the  law  of  nature/7  that  is  the  law  which  the  nature  or 
constitution  which  he  has  given  to  man,  requires  or 
enforces. 

Such  a  law  results  from  the  very  fact  of  creation.  The 
Creator  is  necessarily  to  a  certain  extent  a  legislator. 
By  calling  a  thing  into  being,  he  determines  what  it  is, 
how  it  shall  be  constituted,  upon  what  it  shall  act,  and 
how  it  shall  be  acted  upon.  As  created  it  has  its  quali- 
ties, capacities,  adaptations,  or  in  other  words,  its  nature, 
and  the  conditions  or  modes  in  which  these  are  designed 
to  act  are  the  law  of  the  nature  of  the  thing.  It  is  the 
law  of  the  seed  to  germinate,  of  the  vine  to  produce 
grapes,  of  the  oak  to  produce  acorns. 

So  if  you  take  the  human  body,  it  has  its  laws  of  health- 
ful action.  The  eye  is  for  sight.  The  lungs  are  to 
breathe,  the  feet  are  to  walk.  This  is  the  law  of  their 
creation.  Their  proper  and  healthful  action  is  dependent 
on  certain  conditions,  or  laws  of  health,  which  must  be 
met  or  complied  with,  and  the  penalty  of  non-compliance 

(106) 


THE  LAW  OF  NATURE. 


107 


is  pain,  disease,  or  feebleness.  So  there  are  physical  laws 
of  sobriety  and  temperance,  the  penalty  of  which  is  dis- 
sipation, suffering  and  infamy.  These  laws  belong  to  the 
code  of  nature,  and  any  man,  except  the  fool,  can  read 
them  by  observation,  and  the  fool  reads  them  at  last  in 
his  own  experience  as  if  they  were  written  in  large 
capitals. 

So  there  are  laws  which  govern  man's  intellectual  and 
moral  nature.  The  mind  must  be  used  or  it  will  rust. 
There  is  law  and  penalty.  Certain  Conditions  in  the  use 
of  the  intellect  must  be  observed,  or  it  will  be  made  nar- 
row, or  bigoted,  or  sophistical.  The  moral  nature  has 
its  laws.  Integrity  is  required,  or  distrust  will  be  pro- 
duced, conscience  will  reproach,  the  calm  of  the  soul  will 
be  broken.  There  must  be  simplicity  of  purpose,  or  one 
must  be  double-minded.  The  will  must  be  held  in  check, 
or  a  man  will  become  its  serf  and  the  slave  of  passion. 

So  each  faculty  of  mind  and  of  the  moral  nature  has 
its  own  laws.  They  are  cut  into  the  very  constitution 
of  things  like  the  name  of  a  temple  sculptured  on  its 
portico. 

Every  thing  that  exists  has  its  peculiar  constitution 
and  relations.  The  nature  of  the  tree  or  shrub  governs 
its  growth  and  development.  The  instincts  of  the  brute 
govern  its  action.  The  intelligence  and  conscience  of 
man  govern,  or  are  designed  to  govern  his  acts  and 
career. 

These  laws,  therefore,  are  very  diverse.  Some  are 
simply  physical,  others  are  moral.  Some  secure  inevita- 
bly the  desired  result ;  others  simply  impose  obligation 
on  the  creature,  impelling  him,  but  not  absolutely  neces- 
sitating him  to  act.  But  in  either  case  they  are  alike 
the  laws  of  the  Great  Maker.  No  man  can  doubt  the 


io8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

fact  of  his  legislation.     Intelligent  creation  is  ipso  facto 
legislation. 

But  what  is  the  character  of  this  law  of  nature  as 
regards  men  ?  It  is  to  man's  constitution  that  we  must 
turn  for  an  answer.  This  shows  the  design  of  his  being, 
and  the  design  of  the  Creator  suggests  the  end  which 
man  is  to  attain.  If  you  look  at  any  mechanism  of  man, 
you  find  out  by  study,  or  the  explanation  of  others,  the 
use  for  which  it  was  designed.  That  designed  use  deter- 
mines how  it  is  to  be  employed.  A  spade  can  be  used 
as  a  bludgeon.  But  plainly  this  was  not  the  design  of 
its  maker.  Man  can  be  perverted  into  a  chattel,  a  glut- 
ton, a  sensualist,  a  knave,  but  evidently  this  was  not  the 
design  of  his  Maker.  The  plain  and  safe  rule  of  inter- 
pretation here  is,  that  a  thing  or  being  is  designed  for 
the  highest  and  most  useful  purpose  for  which  it  could  be 
employed.  It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  one  to  invent 
a  curious  and  complicated  machine  exactly  fitted  to  sow 
or  reap,  which  should  be  employed  to  level  furrows  by 
dragging  it  over  them,  when  a  simple  bush  or  roller 
would  do  as  well.  So  if  a  man  lives  like  a  brute,  it  does 
not  follow  that  he  was  meant  for  a  brute,  or  that  this  is 
the  law  of  his  being.  -If  he  has  passions  whose  excessive 
indulgence  would  make  him  a  glutton,  a  sot,  or  a  tyrant, 
it  does  not  follow,  if  it  is  possible  for  them  to  be  checked 
and  moderated,  and  answer  a  good  purpose  in  a  subordi- 
nate sphere,  that  they  were  meant  for  unlimited  indul- 
gence, but  rather  the  reverse.  The  design  of  the  maker 
is  to  be  learned  by  inquiry  of  what  a  thing  is  susceptible, 
or  what  is  the  highest  and  most  important  end  which  it 
can  evidently  subserve.  That  design,  so  far  forth  as  it  is 
manifest,  is  of  the  nature  of  law,  and  failure  to  attain  it 
is  of  the  nature  of  penalty. 


THE  LAW  OF  NATURE.  109 

Here  then  is  man  made,  not  like  a  stone,  subject  to  the 
simple  law  of  gravitation  ;  not  like  a  human  machine  to 
expedite  the  processes  of  industry,  of  science,  or  of  art ; 
not  like  the  brute,  to  be  subjected  to  a  superior  will  and 
intelligence,  guided  only  by  blind  instinct,  but  with  an 
intelligence  that  allies  him  to  his  Maker  ;  with  a  sense  of 
right  and  wrong  that  enables  him  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
human  action,  others,  and  his  own  ;  with  a  power  of  rea- 
son and  judgment  that  qualifies  him  to  trace  causes  to 
results,  and  determine  the  consequences  of  different 
courses  of  action  ;  with  sagacity  to  perceive  what  is 
wisest  and  safest  among  proposed  measures  ;  with  a  will 
that  can  carry  his  designs  into  execution,  and  renders 
him  accountable  for  his  acts  ;  with  capacities  and  means 
to  make  others  happy,  or  influence  them  to  what  is  pure 
and  good  ;  with  susceptibilities  for  virtuous  enjoyment 
infinitely  superior  to  all  the  pleasure  of  sense ;  with  a 
power  of  thought  to  soar  into  the  great  realm  of  the  un- 
seen, and  power  of  feeling  to  be  moved  by  all  that  is  great, 
or  good,  or  sublime  in  moral  action  ;  and  with  such  possi- 
bilities of  intellectual  and  moral  growth  and  development, 
that  his  standing  point  on  earth  seems  but  an  eagle's 
perch  for  far  loftier  flights ;  and  all  these  wheels,  all 
these  complicated  mechanisms  of  his  moral  being  are  so 
adjusted  to  each  other,  and  to  the  sphere  in  which  he  is 
to  act,  that  he  is  stupid,  beyond  comprehension,  who  does 
not  respond  to  the  sentiment  of  the  psalmist,  "  I  am  fear- 
fully and  wonderfully  made  ;"  or  who  does  not  while  lie 
responds,  stand  awestruck  before  the  majestic  design  of 
his  Maker,  sculptured  as  it  were  in  legible  letters  in  his 
own  constitution. 

That  design  reveals  law — the  highest  law  of  Nature — 
that  law  that  should  govern  the  purposes  and  aims  of 


110  LIFE  LESSONS. 

every  man.  He  who  degrades  himself  by  low,  base,  or 
selfish  aims,  who  uses  his  intelligence  to  make  himself 
only  a  lettered  brute  ;  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong  to  con- 
demn others  and  not  judge  himself ;  his  reason  and  judg- 
ment to  excuse  his  evil  or  plead  the  cause  of  vice  ;  his 
sagacity  to  discern  how  his  own  selfish  lust  and  passions 
may  be  gratified ;  or  his  will  to  execute  purposes  that 
build  up  his  despotic  supremacy,  on  the  ruin  of  others'  in- 
dependence ;  or  his  sensibility  to  the  good  and  great  as  a 
foil  to  his  own  baseness  of  heart,  such  a  man  violates  the 
very  law  of  Nature.  He  has  no  right  to  pervert  his 
intellect,  his  conscience,  or  his  affections.  He  has  the 
capacities  which,  rightly  used,  can  approximate  him  to  an 
angel,  and  he  violates  the  law  of  his  creation  and  consti- 
tution, when  he  uses  them  to  assimulate  him  to  a  despot, 
or  a  sot,  a  brute  or  a  devil.  Every  step  in  this  direction 
is  a  step  in  transgression.  Every  leaning  to  such  a  result 
is  a  leaning  against  the  sharp  piercing  point  of  the  statute 
of  the  Eternal  Lawgiver. 

Now  some  may  object  to  this  law,  on  the  ground  that  it 
is  not  proclaimed.  But  here  we  ta,ke  issue  with  them. 
We  say  it  is  proclaimed,  even  by  the  light  of  Nature. 
You  might  as  well  take  the  statute  book  of  the  state,  that 
condemns  your  crime,  with  you  into  the  cell  or  dungeon, 
and  because  of  the  darkness'  and  gloom  which  your  wick- 
edness has  brought  upon  you,  say  that  there  is  no  law 
because  you  cannot  read  it.  Man's  sin  has  blinded  him 
to  the  law  of  Nature,  and  his  guilt  has  made  its  republi- 
cation  by  revelation  necessary.  But  though  republished, 
and  more  fully  and  clearly  drawn  in  the  Bible,  it  does  not 
follow  that  it  has  not  been  proclaimed.  Laws  in  various 
ages  have  been  variously  published,  sometimes  graven  in 
stone,  sometimes  by  the  voice  of  the  herald,  sometimes  by 


THE  LA  W  OF  NATURE.  !  i  ^ 

reports  of  others,  sometimes  by  obscure  handwriting  on 
pillars,  sometimes  as  unwritten,  or  common  law.  The  law 
of  Nature  is  the  common  law  of  the  universe.  It  is  writ- 
ten at  least  in  the  conscience.  It  is  embodied  even  in 
the  moral  judgments  we  form  of  one  another,  and  the  man 
who  complains  that  it  is  not  published,  and  imagines  that 
he  has  reason  for  what  he  says,  only  argues  that  his  own 
sin  or  moral  blindness  has  blurred  and  blotted  the  hand- 
writing till  his  own  copy  is  almost  or  quite  illegible. 

We  admit  that  it  is  sometimes  almost  illegible.  But 
the  fault  is  not  in  the  proclamation  or  publication,  but 
the  guilty  suppression  of  it.  This  suppression,  extensive, 
general,  and,  we  may  say,  universal,  has  made  a  fuller 
and  clearer  republication  important,  but  that  republica- 
tion  could  not  be  claimed.  God  has  graciously  made  it, 
but  that  grace  was  not  our  due.  And  if  now  by  the  light 
of  the  revised  statute,  we  can  better  read  the  old,  spelling 
it  out  letter  by  letter,  we  only  infer,  first  the  great  evil 
of  the  sin  that  obliterated  the  old,  and  then  the  infinite 
obligation  which  is  imposed  by  the  giving  of  the  new. 


XIV. 

THE  REVEALED  RULE   OP  LIFE. 

"  Thy  testimonies  are  wonderful." — Ps.  cxix.  129. 

HAVE  we  in  our  hands  an  actual  revelation  from 
God?  Have  we  the  authentic  utterance  of  His 
will  and  character  and  purpose  ? 

There  are  several  works  in  the  world  that  lay  claim 
to  the  character  of  sacred  books,  but  I  presume  no  one 
who  has  the  faintest  knowledge  of  their  real  character 
would  allow  consideration,  even  for  a  moment,  to  the 
claims  of  any  but  the  Bible.  Some  flaw — as  scientific 
error,  imperfect  morality,  absurd  legends — stamps  all  but 
this  as  counterfeit.  The  Bible,  and  the  Bible  only,  can 
plausibly  challenge  attention  as  a  revelation  from  God. 

What  is  it,  then  ?  It  will  help  us  to  weigh  its  eviden- 
ces if  we  know  what  it  is.  We  can  understand  at  least 
what  interest,  in  examining  its  evidences,  its  contents 
excite.  The  Bible,  then,  is  made  up  of  history,  doctrine, 
morality  or  laws  of  duty,  devotional  utterances,  prophecy 
and  the  declared  purposes  of  God's  providence  and 
grace. 

It  is  first  of  all  history.  This  is  the  largest  element 
of  the  whole.  Here  are  sixty-six  separate  books  or 
treatises,  written  by  nearly  forty  different  authors,  arid 
their  dates  are  spread,  as  near  as  we  can  judge,  over  the 

(112) 


THE  REVEALED  1WLK  OF  LIFE.  113 

space  of  fifteen  centuries.  The  earliest  writers  had 
been  dead  more  than  a  thousand  years  before  the  last 
took  up  his  pen.  Each  was  independent  of  the  others. 
The  styles  are  distinct,  and  the  volume  cannot  have  been 
forged  by  a  single  hand.  Nor  can  it  have  been  got  up 
by  collusion  or  conspiracy,  for  the  different  writers  be- 
longed to  diverse  ages,  and  could  never  have  met  and 
consulted  together. 

Yet  they  have  written  conjointly  the  most  wonderful 
history  in  the  world,  fully  as  remarkable  for  its  unity  as 
for  its  diversity.  It  gives  us  the  first,  the  earliest,  and 
the  only  record  that  we  have  of  the  creation  of  the  globe 
and  its  inhabitants.  It  gives  us  the  sketch  of  succeeding 
centuries,  and  an  authentic  narrative  of  the  peopling  of 
the  world,  through  a  period  which  all  other  histories 
abandon  to  myths  and  fable.  Nowhere  else  can  we  learn 
anything  of  the  actual  origin  of  the  race.  Nowhere  else 
can  we  trace  the  original  divisions  and  settlement  of  the 
human  family.  Nowhere  else  during  this  period  can  we 
feel  that  we  tread  the  solid  ground  of  reality. 

But  on  this  common  trunk  of  all  history,  a  peculiar 
history  is  grafted.  It  is  the  history  of  God's  dealings 
with  men,  and  the  successive  steps  by  which  He  has  car- 
ried forward  his  providential  design  for  the  restoration 
of  a  fallen  race.  Here  we  have  the  central  line  of  march 
of  the  world's  progress,  the  great  highway  into  which  all 
the  lanes  and  by-roads  of  history  converge.  Here  is  the 
channel  of  the  river  of  which  other  histories  are  but 
eddies,  or  at  the  best,  tributary  rivulets.  This  keeps  ever 
distinctly  in  view  the  sublime  object  of  original  creation  and 
subsequent  redemption.  Elsewhere,  even  from  the  pens 
of  Gibbon  and  Macaulay,  of  Bancroft  and  Prescott  and 
Motley,  we  have  only  fragments  chipped  off  from  the 


114  LIFE  LESSONS. 

obelisk  of  time.  Here  we  have  time's  very  statue  flung 
out  in  bold  relief  on  the  background  of  eternity.  Other 
writers  give  us  links,  but  here  by  prophecy  and  history 
combined,  we  have  the  great  chain  which  reaches  down 
from  the  staple  of  creation  to  the  final  regeneration  and 
completed  judgment  of  the  world.  Men  are  learning  at 
last  that  the  cross  of  Calvary  is  the  pivot  of  the  destiny 
of  the  race.  Christianity  is  the  motive  and  moulding 
power  of  the  world.  The  real  history  of  time  is  just 
the  history  of  the  process  by  which  it  has  been  evolved 
and  brought  to  bear  upon  individuals  and  nations.  The 
forays  of  a  Nimrod,  the  conquests  of  an  Alexander,  or 
the  triumphs  of  a  Caesar,  are  but  episodes,  incidental 
chapters,  subordinate  in  importance  to  Abraham's  faith, 
Moses7  leadership,  Daniel's  career,  or  the  labors  of  Christ 
and  his  apostles.  The  Jewish  theocracy  was  the  scaffold- 
ing to  the  Gospel  temple.  The  history  of  their  erection 
gives  us  the  channel  current  of  time,  while  other  writers 
have  busied  themselves  with  the  waves  or  foam. 

Here  then,  is  the  most  wonderful  and  unique  history — 
the  true  history  of  man — the  true  history  of  the  race — 
the  true  history  of  its  relation  of  God.  Prom  first  to 
last  there  is  one  object  in  view — and  with  this  the  recov- 
ery of  the  world  through  the  mediatorship  of  the  prom- 
ised Messiah,  before  us  ;  every  fragment  of  this  volume 
takes  its  place  in  a  pre-arranged  and  divine  harmony. 
The  book  of  Leviticus  is  no  superfluity.  The  ceremonial 
law  prefigured  the  facts  of  our  redemption.  The  book 
of  Ruth  is  not  an  episode.  It  is  an  important  link  in 
the  chain  by  which  the  genealogical  descent  of  the  Mes- 
siah is  traced  in  accordance  with  prophecy.  The  book 
of  Daniel  is  no  digression.  It  sets  up  a  notable  land- 
mark in  our  progress  from  Eden  to  Calvary. 


THE  REVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE.  115 

Thus,  sift  it  as  you  will,  the  Bible  history  has  from 
first  to  last  a  wonderful  unity,  not  formal,  not  paraded 
or  obtrusive,  but  real  and  radical.  It  is  written  by 
nearly  two  score  authors  of  different  ages,  and  yet  but 
for  the  varied  style,  it  would  seem  that  a  single  mind 
guided  the  pen.  The  sublime  simplicity  of  the  books  of 
Moses,  the  rigid  annalism  of  Judges,  the  ceremonial  pre- 
ciseness  of  Chronicles,  the  graphic  imagery  of  the  Pro- 
phets, the  simple  narrations  of  the  Galilean  fishermen, 
and  the  earnest,  glowing  utterances  of  Paul — all  blend 
together  in  harmony  like  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  in 
simple  light,  so  that  one  idea,  running  along  beneath  all 
forms  of  expression  and  all  shades  of  thought,  masters 
unconsciously  annalist  and  preacher,  poet,  seer  and  evan- 
gelist, insomuch  that  they  elucidate  in  wonderful  corres- 
pondence the  same  great  theme,  conspire  unwittingly  to 
unfold  the  same  great  plan  by  which  infinite  wisdom  is 
carrying  forward  to  its  conclusion  the  purposes  of  human 
redemption. 

Where  is  there  another  such  history  as  this — so  grand 
in  conception,  so  perfect  in  outline,  so  triumphant  in  con- 
clusion— where  each  book,  though  a  fragment  in  itself, 
fills  its  own  niche  in  the  perfect  structure,  and  all  har- 
monize together  like  the  varied  limbs  of  a  living  creature, 
instinct  with  the  same  spirit  and  vitalized  by  the  same 
energy?  Who  is  not  constrained  almost  to  exclaim  al- 
ready, Human  pens  may  have  written  it,  but  the  Eternal 
Mind  was  its  author ! 

But  the  Bible  is  not  mere  history.  It  presents  the 
doctrines  of  religion,  the  facts  of  theology,  the  elements 
of  the  grandest  and  most  perfect  system  of  religion  ever 
propounded  to  man — one  that  has  no  rival,  or  the  shadow 
of  a  rival  in  all  human  speculation.  The  most  elaborate 


n6  LIFE  LESSONS. 

systems  of  Deism,  or  natural  religion,  are  to  the  Gospel 
system  only  as  a  worm  to  a  man,  only  as  the  wigwam  of 
a  savage  to  a  civilized  home.  This  system,  historically 
presented  in  detached  portions,  but  harmonious  to  the  eye 
of  the  devout  student  who  takes  it  into  view  in  its  proper 
connections,  is  simple  but  sublime.  A  child  shall  appre- 
hend it,  while  an  angel  cannot  comprehend  it.  "  God  is 
a  spirit !"  what  a  flood  of  light  does  this  throw  on  the 
nature  of  God  and  the  worship  he  requires !  "Our 
Father  which  art  in  heaven  !"  what  lessons  are  unfolded 
in  a  word  concerning  the  character  of  God  and  our  rela- 
tions to  him !  "  By  nature  the  children  of  wrath  I"  "  The 
carnal  mind  enmity  against  God  I"  "  The  heart  deceit- 
ful above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked !"  What 
volumes  of  meaning  concerning  man's  apostasy  from  God, 
and  its  bitter  fruits !  "Our  hearts  condemn  us,  and  God 
is  greater  than  our  hearts  and  knoweth  all  things  !" 
What  a  humiliating  exposure  of  our  condition  as  trans- 
gressors of  the  divine  law,  and  expectants  of  deserved 
vengeance !  "  God  so  loved  the  world  as  to  give  his 
only  begotten  and  well-beloved  Son  I"  "  While  we  were 
yet  sinners,  Christ  died  for  the  ungodly  P*  Who  can 
fathom  the  grandeur  of  this  demonstration  of  divine  grace 
toward  us,  this  wonderful  display  of  infinite  compassion 
for  the  guilty.  "  He  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all 
that  come  to  God  by  him !"  How  amazing  the  extent, 
how  glorious  the  sufficiency  of  that  mediatorship  by  which 
Christ  becomes  our  perfect  Redeemer!  And  then  a 
judgment  to  come,  the  blessedness  of  heaven,  the  retri- 
butions of  the  world  of  woe — how  they  stand  forth  sub- 
limely conspicuous  on  the  pages  of  the  Bible,  casting  into 
shadow  all  the  high  thoughts  of  the  proud,  all  the  splen 
dor  and  pomp,  all  the  crowns  and  dominions  of  earth . 


THE  REVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE.  117 

How  wonderful  the  volume  that  thus  boldly  presumes  to 
draw  the  curtain  of  the  eternal  world,  and  lets  frail, 
toiling,  trifling,  dying  man  walk  on  in  the  full  blaze  of 
the  infinite  glories,  so  that  if  he  will,  his  pathway  to  the 
grave  shall  be  irradiated  with  the  light  of  immortality, 
and  the  night  of  Probation's  day  shall  be  the  twilight 
dawning  of  heaven ! 

But  the  Bible  is  also  a  code  of  law,  a  system  of  morals, 
claiming  the  divine  sanction  for  its  injunctions.  And 
here,  simply  as  a  moral  text-book,  it  has  in  all  literature, 
not  a  peer  or  rival.  The  skeptic  has  acknowledged  its 
superiority,  and  with  the  sagacious  wisdom  of  a  Franklin, 
the  polite  suggestions  of  a  Chesterfield,  the  teachings  of 
Socrates  and  Seneca,  codes  of  law,  codes  of  honor,  sen- 
tences, maxims  and  proverbs,  all  at  his  command,  has 
thrown  them  aside  that  he  might  put  into  the  hands  of 
his  children  the  words  of  the  Author  of  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount.  The  instincts  of  his  affection  were  truer 
than  the  elaborate  pleadings  of  his  perverted  reason.  As 
you  read  this  book,  you  feel  all  evil  rebuked,  as  if  an  all- 
seeing  eye  were  looking  right  through  the  soul,  till  all 
wicked  designs,  fraudful  deception  and  selfish  schemes 
are  searched  out  by  its  beams,  and  the  very  chambers  of 
sheltered  darkness  and  sin  have  all  their  imagery  ex- 
posed. This  book — the  good  love  it ;  the  bad  hate  it. 
To  the  one  it  is  a  guide,  to  the  other  a  detector  :  so  that 
in  spite  of  themselves,  the  instincts  of  sin,  strangely  unite 
with  the  sympathies  of  holiness  to  attest  its  power  ;  the 
first  trembling  at  its  rebukes,  the  last  strengthened  by 
its  sanctions. 

Of  the  prophecies  of  this  book,  I  have  not  space  here 
to  speak  at  length.  But  when  you  read  them,  and  note 
the  austere  standard  of  duty,  which  the  overpowering 


118  LIFE  LESSORS. 

glory  of  the  divine  character  portrayed,  the  thunders  of 
rebuke  that  roll  forth  with  each  succeeding  sentence,  the 
stern  denunciations  of  iniquity  that"  they  utter,  the  glow- 
ing and  superhuman  imagery  with  which  they  are  often 
clothed,  you  feel  that  either  these  are  expressions  of  the 
sublimest  impudence  of  which  man  could  be  guilty,  or  the 
very  messages  that  have  come  down  to  the  world  from 
the  throne  of  God. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  the  devotional  spirit  and 
breathing  of  this  volume  ?  In  this  respect  it  is  neither 
surpassed  nor  equalled  by  any  other.  Good  men  have 
written  good  books — books  that  set  forth  truth  and  duty 
eloquently — that  kindle  the  soul  to  flaming  zeal,  or  bow 
it  in  deepest  self-abhorrence — that  inspire  it  with  Godly 
aims,  arouse  the  energies  of  its  consecrated  powers  as 
the  notes  of  drum  or  trumpet  stir  the  soul  to  harsher 
deeds  of  arms.  I  would  depreciate  none  of  them.  I 
would  bless  God  for  such  messengers  of  piety  and  devo- 
tion as  Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,77  Baxter's  "  Saint7s 
Rest'7  and  "  Dying  Thoughts,77  Howe7s  "  Blessedness  of 
the  Righteous,77  Rutherford's  Letters,  Romaine  on  Faith, 
Legh  Richmond's  Tracts,  and  scores  of  others,  and  I 
would  lend  them  new  wings  to  visit  on  angel  errands 
the  homes  of  God's  sorrowing  or  toiling  ones  ;  but  all  of 
them  are  only — in  the  presence  of  the  Bible — like  planets 
around  a  central  sun.  They  shine  only  by  a  borrowed 
light,  and  if  I  must  have  but  one — I  say  give  me  that 
which  makes  my  day  rather  than  that  which  merely 
adorns  my  night ;  give  me  the  diadem  instead  of  the  single 
gem.  For  who  can  go  up  with  Abraham  to  Moriah,  or 
with  Moses  to  Sinai  and  Pisgah,  or  hear  David  sing  in 
memory  of  his  own  past,  "  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,"  or 
pray  the  words  the  Saviour  taught,  or  lean  with  the 


THE  11EVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE.  u9 

beloved  disciple  on  Jesus7  bosom  at  the  supper,  or  yield 
himself  to  the  upward  currents  of  devotion  poured  forth 
in  the  aspiring  praise  and  supplication  of  the  Apostle 
Paul,  and  not  feel  himself  wafted  above  the  world,  borne 
as  it  were  on  eagle  wings  to  a  height  where  the  eloquence 
of  a  Chatham  or  Webster,  the  genius  of  a  Milton,  the 
philosophy  of  a  Bacon,  shrink  to  the  sparkling  insignifi- 
cance of  sand  grains  gazed  at  from  the  mountain's  brow  ? 
Our  sweetest  lyrics  have  been  gathered  from  the  Hebrew 
Psalms.  One  of  our  greatest  statesmen  pronounced  that 
beginning,  "  I  love  thy  kingdom,  Lord/7  unsurpassed  in 
literature ;  and  where  can  the  bowed,  crushed,  broken 
heart  find  such  expressions  as  in  the  Penitential  Psalm  ! 
And  now  is  it  wonderful  that  such  a  volume  should 
have  had  such  a  history — that  it  should  stand  for  cen- 
turies as  it  stands  to-day,  as  powerful  as  it  is  venerable — 
the  spiritual  battery  to  electrify  nations  and  the  world — 
the  moral  lighthouse  to  illuminate  the  career  of  individ- 
uals and  of  governments — the  lever  to  lift  fallen  humanity 
from  the  pit  of  its  misery — the  guide-book  of  the  erring 
and  the  lost,  to  bring  them  back  to  their  Father's  house  ? 
It  helps  us  to  know  the  book  better — to  know  what  it 
is — if  we  turn  and  see  what  it  has  been,  where  it  has  gone 
and  what  is  has  done.  It  has  enlightened  ignorance, 
dispelled  doubt,  chased  away  superstitious  fear,  and  been 
a  fountain  of  light  and  hope  to  the  despairing.  It  has 
transformed  character,  changed  the  lion  to  the  lamb,  the 
brute  to  the  angel,  and  the  humbling  confession  of  the 
penitent  publican  has  been  wrung  by  it  from  the  tongue 
of  the  desperado  in  guilt,  the  felon  in  his  cell,  and  the 
blasphemer  breathing  out  once  the  vernacular  of  hell. 
Men  whose  vileness  has  been  proof  against  all  human 
persuasion  have  been  subdued  by  the  power  of  the  cross. 


1 20  LIFE  LE880N8. 

Robust  and  hard-hearted  iniquity  has  been  made  to  trem- 
ble like  Felix  before  Paul.  Lips  slimy  with  oaths  have 
become  redolent  of  praise.  Tongues  loaded  with  impre- 
cation have  caught  the  music  of  the  new  song,  and  over 
the  form  of  the  prostrate  persecutor  angels  have  bent, 
to  soar  aloft  with  the  exulting  announcement,  "  behold 
he  prayeth." 

Human  eloquence  has  never  won  such  victories,  or  ex- 
ulted in  such  triumphs  as  have  been  achieved  by  the  liv- 
ing words  of  the  Bible.  It  has  slain  the  enmity  of  the 
human  heart.  It  has  disarmed  the  persecutor  and  sub- 
dued the  strength  of  malice  by  a  stronger  love.  It  has 
gone  into  dens  of  vice  and  pollution  and  turned  the  foul 
spirits  out.  It  has  entered  the  temple  of  the  soul  and 
overturned  the  tables  of  the  money-changers,  and  restored 
the  prostrate  and  neglected  altar.  It  has  laid  conse- 
crating hands  on  the  faculties  and  powers  of  the  whole 
man,  till,  instead  of  the  slave  of  selfish  gain,  he  became 
"  eyes  to  the  blind  and  feet  to  the  larne."  It  has  touched 
the  indolent  spirit  and  made  it  flame  forth  with  active, 
self-denying  love.  It  has  sent  those  whose  educated 
tastes  led  them  to  spurn  all  contact  with  vulgarity,  into 
street:?,  and  lanes,  and  alleys,  and  hovels,  where  they 
might  stretch  out  to  the  wretched  and  degraded  the 
hand  of  sympathy  and  of  brotherhood.  It  has  evoked 
the  sublimest  illustrations  of  moral  heroism,  and  you  may 
safely  credit  the  generous  self-denial,  the  large-hearted 
charity,  the  bravest  and  the  gentlest  deeds  that  have  en- 
riched the  story  of  the 'past,  to  the  power  of  the  Bible. 
Evangelists,  missionaries,  martyrs,  drank  from  this  in- 
spiring fountain,  and  along  every  nerve  thrilled  the  new 
energy  which  made  them  more  than  conquerors  amid  hard- 
ship, peril,  dungeon  and  the  flames. 


THE  REVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE.  121 

No  other  book  lias  ever  wrought  out  such  results.  Into 
the  solitary  bosom,  into  the  social  circle,  and  into  the 
broad  sphere  of  our  common  humanity,  it  has  borne  the 
whispered  message  of  the  angel  of  the  covenant.  As  it 
spoke,  Care  smoothed  his  wrinkled  brow,  Pain  forgot  his 
agony,  Age  shook  off  the  burden  of  years,  Sorrow  dis- 
cerned rainbow  hues,  memorials  of  the  everlasting  cov- 
enant in  its  falling  tear  drops,  while  Passion  hushed  its 
raging  waves,  and  the  dying  sufferer  seemed  to  catch 
echoes  from  the  music  of  the  golden  harps  mingling  with 
the  pathos  of  love's  last  earthly  farewell.  Human  affec- 
tion borrowed  an  unutterable  sweetness  and  grace  as  les- 
sons from  this  book  subdued  every  tone,  while  the  timid 
spirit,  through  the  inbreathed  energy  of  divine  truth,  be- 
came more  than  a  Leonidas,  became  a  Christian  martyr. 

Where  is  the  institution  of  humanity  or  benevolence 
not  indebted  to  it?  Where  is  the  Christian  state  which 
it-  has  not  brought  under  infinite  obligation  ?  Where  is 
the  legislation  that  it  has  not  leavened,  the  schools  and 
colleges  and  asylums  which  it  has  not  nurtured  ?  It  has 
been  the  strength  of  the  world's  strongest  men.  It  has 
furnished  the  watchwords  and  mottoes  that  have  kindled 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  Christian  heart.  The  stars  and 
stripes  ?  Here  is  the  star  of  Bethlehem,  the  glorious 
salvation  of  Him  by  whose  stripes  we  are  healed.  The 
Bible  has  been  Protean,  not  to  curse  but  to  bless.  It  has 
been  the  Christian's  guide-book,  the  soldier's  armor,  the 
sufferer's  consolation,  the  believer's  charter  to  a  heavenly 
birthright.  It  was  Luther's  armory,  Baxter's  panoply, 
Bvmyan's  library,  Knox's  battle-axe,  the  pilgrim's  guide- 
book, and  everywhere  for  all  time  the  herald  of  pure 
learning,  social  morals,  just  laws  and  religious  life.  It  lit 
the  star  in  the  west  that  guided  the  Mayflower.  It  sent 
G 


122  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Elliott  and  Brainerd  to  the  savages  of  the  wilderness, 
and  over  broad  continents  and  the  islands  of  the  sea  it  has 
kindled  the  pioneer  watchfires  of  the  millennial  advent. 

But,  is  this  all  ?  Nay,  there  is  scarcely  a  great  writer, 
or  great  thinker,  or  great  actor  of  these  last  centuries, 
whose  debt  to  the  Bible,  in  a  mere  intellectual  point  of 
view,  is  not  immense.  It  has  quickened  the  life  of  na- 
tions, and  given  to  enterprise  a  new,  if  not  original,  im- 
pulse. Milton  studied  its  grandest  lyrics  before  he 
penned  his  own  immortal  song.  Bacon  gathered  its 
brightest  gems  to  set  in  the  frame  of  his  own  golden 
thought.  Addison  in  every  page  betrays  his  obligation 
to  its  lofty  morality  as  well  as  its  majestic  diction.  Cow- 
per  suifused  his  lines  with  odors  from  the  bruised  flowers 
of  Gethsemane,  and  who  doubts  that  Washington  was  a 
braver  and  abler  leader,  and  Wilberforce  a  more  reliable 
statesman,  and  Chalmers  a  mightier  thinker,  through  the 
power  of  this  book? 

Thus  through  literature,  legislation,  moral  reform  and 
all  industrial  enterprise  its  spirit  has  gone  abroad.  Not 
a  sail  unfurled  upon  the  sea  but  owes  something  to  its 
influence.  Not  a  law  on  the  statute  book  but  has  felt 
its  shaping  pressure.  Not  an  iron  wire  that  thrills  with 
the  mandate  of  a  nation's  will,  or  an  iron  track  which 
bands  a  continent  together,  that  exists  independent  of  the 
impulse  which  the  Bible  has  ministered. 

And  how  endeared  it  is  to  millions  of  hearts !  It  is 
cherished  with  unutterable  affection  by  those  who  would 
feel  its  loss  like  the  blotting  of  the  sun  from  heaven. 
They  heard  it  read  in  early  years  by  saintly  lips  now 
sealed  in  the  silence  of  the  grave.  Its  very  words  have 
that  familiar  yet  solemn  tone  which  distinguishes  them 
from  all  others.  They  have  been  preached  in  the  pulpit, 


T1IE  KEVEALED  RULE  OF  LIFE. 


123 


they  have  been  paraphrased  in  song.  The  music  of  their 
speech  has  been  heard  at  the  bridal  and  at  the  burial,  in 
the  sanctuary  and  by  the  fireside.  The  volume  itself 
was,  perhaps,  the  very  earliest  memorial  which  affection 
bestowed,  as  hope  gives  the  fond  assurance  that  it  shall 
be  the  last  to  fall  from  the  trembling  hand.  A  solemn 
awe,  a  reverential  fear  attended  its  first  perusal,  and 
every  subsequent  call  to  listen  to  its  words  has  confirmed 
the  impression  that  was  then  made.  Its  sentences  are 
imbedded  in  the  memory.  Its  promises  are  enshrined  in 
the  heart.  What  childhood  repeated,  age  loves  to  re- 
hearse, and  graven  on  countless  tombstones  are  traced 
the  holy  texts  "  that  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die,"  or 
speak  the  sacred  hope  of  blessedness  beyond  the  grave. 

Thus  highly  is  it  prized.  And  is  it  all  a  mistake  ?  Is 
this  book  the  delusion  of  the  soul  ?  Is  it  a  false  guide  ? 
Is  it  a  forged  charter  ?  We  may,  at  least,  presume  not, 
so  long  as, 

"  What  none  can  prove  a  forgery,  may  be  true, 
What  none  but  bad  men  wish  exploded,  must." 


XV. 

TERMS  OP  THE  LIFE  ETEKNAL. 

"What  shall  I  do  that  I  may  inherit  eternal  life?"—  MARK  r.  IT. 

WHAT  a  wonderful  book  the  Bible  is !  The  mar- 
vel of  literature,  the  text-book  of  the  world ! 
Where  is  there  anything  like  it  in  all  the  writings  of 
men  ?  It  is  the  only  book  extant  that  can  be  called  a 
book  for  all,  or  that  is  equally  adapted  to  all.  You  put 
it  into  the  child's  hand,  and  he  grows  old  reading  it, 
but  it  has  new  charms  to  the  last,  and  is  unexhausted 
still.  The  hoary  head  bends  over  it — not  less  intent  than 
the  eyes  that  gleam  out  under  the  fair  young  brow — 
tracing  lines  that  have  been  traced  a  hundred  times,  but 
which  are  still  as  fresh  and  bright  as  ever.  Childish  sim- 
plicity is  taught  the  deepest  truths,  and  readily  appre- 
hends them,  while  separate  books  or  even  chapters  of  the 
volume  task  the  ingenuity  and  exhaust  the  learning  of 
deep-read  scholars.  The  peasant  pores  over  it  in  his 
hovel  and  the  nobleman  in  his  palace,  and  it  is  alike  a 
teacher  for  both.  The  thankful  heart  finds  in  it  the  lan- 
guage of  praise,  and  the  penitent  heart  adopts  its  forms 
of  contrition.  The  soldier  reads  it  in  the  camp,  or  in 
the  intervals  of  battle,  and  the  widow  reads  in  it  as  she 
comes  back  from  the  new-made  grave,  "  The  Lord  is  thy 
husband."  The  patriarch  of  four-score  reads  it  by  his 

(124) 


TERMS  OF  THE  LIFE  ETERNAL. 


125 


fireside,  and  the  lisping  prattler  on  his  knee  is  charmed 
by  its  stories  from  the  old  man's  lips.  How  could  you 
teach  youth  a  simpler  petition  than  our  Lord's  prayer, 
and  how  could  the  profoundest  learning  frame  anything 
more  comprehensive,  appropriate  or  sublime  ? 

Suppose  you  invited  all  the  wisdom  and  genius  of  the 
world  to-day  to  combine  their  energies  to  produce  a  text- 
book of  morals  and  religion  which  should  go  alike  to  the 
Englishman's  castle  and  the  Hottentot's  kraal,  with  Kane 
to  the  Polar  Seas,  and  Livingston  to  African  deserts,  that 
the  professor  of  law  should  tell  his  students  to  read  for 
its  style,  and  the  very  infidel  should  teach  his  child  for 
its  sublime  morality — a  book  that  should  do  more  than 
the  wisdom  of  all  codes  to  shape  the  legislation  of  na- 
tions, and  more  than  all  science  to  overthrow  the  temples 
and  the  idols  of  pagan  nations — a  book  that  a  mother 
should  put  in  her  boy's  knapsack  when  he  goes  forth  to 
the  scenes  of  battle,  and  to  which  she  turns  herself  for 
consolation  when  she  learns  that  he  sleeps  with  the  un- 
tombed  dead — a  book  that  shall  guide  the  footsteps  of 
erring  youth,  and  pillow  the  hope  of  the  departing  spirit 
— a  book  that  shall  cheer  the  prisoner  in  his  cell,  and 
that  shall  raise  up  Judsons  for  the  heathen,  and  Howards 
for  jails,  and  Wilberforces  for  the  enslaved  African — a 
book  in  which  a  Newton,  a  Herschel,  a  Brewster,  and  a 
Mitchel  shall  devoutly  confess  they  discover  truths  more 
glorious  than  their  telescopes  reveal,  and  which  shall 
have  power  to  change  the  savage  to  a  man — and  does 
any  one  imagine  that  the  ripest  civilization  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  garnering  up  all  the  lore  and  experience 
of  ages  could  produce  such  a  book  ?  Philosophers  read 
Lord  Bacon,  and  scholars  study  Plato,  and  in  these  men 
you  find  the  ripest  thought  of  centuries  and  of  generations ; 


126  LIFE  LESSONS. 

but  what  are  they  to  the  laborer  or  the  school-boy — nay, 
how  their  brightest  thoughts  die  out  as  a  meteor-flash, 
when  you  read  the  wonderful  parables  of  the  man  of 
Nazareth,  or  listen  to  the  utterances  of  his  Sermon  on 
the  Mount ! 

No  wonder  that  the  book  is  cherished.  No  wonder 
that  precious  memories  of  it  are  twined  about  the  past, 
and  that  the  brightest  rainbow  hues  of  the  future  are 
borrowed  from  the  hopes  it  inspires.  It  is  associated 
with  all  that  is  dearest  to  the  human  heart.  The  old 
family  record  grows  almost  sacred,  interleaved  with 
these  pages.  The  dying  parent  goes  to  this  fountain  to 
find  words  of  farewell  counsel  to  those  he  leaves  behind. 
Here  is  what  we  repeat  at  the  bridal,  here  is  what  we 
read  at  the  burial.  Here  is  the  chapter  for  family  devo- 
tion, and  here  the  text  for  the  sanctuary.  The  richest 
bequest  of  parental  piety  comes  from  the  teachings  of  this 
book,  and  with  the  last  memorial  of  the  departed  we  trace 
on  the  tombstone  some  "  holy  text"  which  it  has  enshrined. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  in  connection  with  a 
book  penned  largely  by  shepherds  and  fishermen?  There 
is  but  one  answer.  Here  is  God's  text-book  for  the  race, 
adapted  to  every  capacity  and  to  every  lot.  This  tree 
of  wisdom  beneath  whose  shadow  we  gather  to  learn 
lessons  beyond  all  that  was  taught  in  Platonic  groves,  is 
a  tree  of  God's  planting.  It  is  rooted  in  the  soil  of  the 
distant  centuries.  It  spreads  its  fibres  beneath  Sinai  and 
Calvary.  The  Spirit  of  God  breathes  through  its  whis- 
pering leaves,  and  the  songs  of  prophets,  and  apostles, 
and  martyrs  yet  wake  living  echoes  beneath  its  branches. 
The  leaves  of  the  tree  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations, 
and  its  fruit  is  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  life.  Humanity 
itself  pants  for  a  place  beneath  its  shade. 


TERMS  OF  THE  LIFE  ETERNAL.  127 

And  what  is  the  object  of  it  ?  Not  to  teach  art  or 
science  or  philosophy — not  to  please  or  entertain,  but  to 
educate  the  soul  for  heaven.  It  answers  for  every  man 
the  question  "  Good  master,  what  shall  I  do  that  I  may 
inherit  eternal  life?"  It  answers  it  for  the  Jew.  It  an- 
swers it  for  the  pagan.  It  answers  it  for  the  Christian. 
Different  classes  want  different  text-books,  but  here  all 
are  taught  from  one.  The  shepherd  boy  and  the  King 
of  Israel,  the  fisherman  and  the  pupil  of  Gamaliel,  Nico- 
demus  and  Zaccheus,  Milton  and  the  ploughboy,  Job  and 
the  jailer  of  Philippi,  may  take  their  place  on  the  same 
benches,  and  say  alike,  "A  greater  than  Solomon  is 
here  I" 

Just  as  a  well-arranged  text-book  carries  a  pupil  on 
step  by  step  to  the  highest  problems,  so  God  by  revela- 
tion has  educated  the  race.  The  types  and  shadows  of 
the  old  ceremonial  law  were  the  alphabet  of  the  atone- 
ment— the  rudiments  of  the  Gospel.  In  the  profoundest 
sense  the  law  was  a  schoolmaster,  a  child-guide  to  lead 
us  to  Christ.  The  commandment  of  duty  comes  logically 
before  the  sense  of  transgression,  and  with  the  confes- 
sion of  sin  comes  that  cry  for  mercy  which  the  Gospel 
answers. 

And  as  it  is  with  the  race,  so  it  is  with  the  individual. 
If  the  Jews  were  taught  as  children,  so  is  the  doubting, 
trembling  inquirer  even  now.  Does  he  ask,  What  shall  I 
do  to  inherit  eternal  life?  he  is  told  to  keep  the  command- 
ments. This  is  first  of  all.  Why?  Because  it  is  wisest. 
Because  no  man  is  capable  of  seeing  the  beauty  and 
grace,  and  feeling  the  preciousness  of  the  Gospel  till  he 
has  tried  to  render  obedience,  and  has  been  humbled 
into  the  dust  by  his  confessed  failure.  He  needs  to  know 
the  law — to  feel  its  spirituality,  to  understand  its  extent, 


128  LIFE  LESSONS. 

to  know  what  it  requires,  and  to  feel  how  far  he  has 
come  short.  It  was  to  this  end,  that  Christ  would  sweep 
aside  from  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  his  blinding  self- 
flattery,  and  show  him  to  himself.  For  this  he  gives  him 
to  understand  that  his  wealth  is  yet  his  idol,  dethroning 
and  shutting  God  out  of  his  heart.  He  is  not  fitted  to 
follow  the  Saviour,  till  he  can  learn  to  sacrifice  all  else 
to  do  it. 

This  is  the  first  great  lesson.  In  vain  is  the  Gospel 
preached  to  you  if  you  refuse  to  learn  this.  We  say,  if 
you  will  attain  eternal  life  by  your  own  exertions,  keep 
the  commandments.  You  are  bound  to  do  it.  Every 
fibre  of  your  conscience  responds  to-  the  claim — thrills 
with  the  sense  of  obligation.  You  are  bound  to  love  God 
with  your  whole  heart,  to  keep  His  commandments — to 
seek  His  glory.  You  are  bound  to  hold  all  you  have  and 
are  subject  to  His  command.  You  are  bound  to  subdue 
every  unhallowed  and  selfish  passion,  to  drive  out  every 
evil  thought,  to  love  your  neighbor  as  yourself.  You  are 
bound  to  have  a  heart  holy  and  pure  and  free  from  sin. 
You  have  no  more  right  to  do  wrong,  to  speak  or  do,  or 
even  think  or  wish,  an  evil  thing,  than  an  angel  in  heaven. 
The  very  same  law  binds  you  that  binds  the  seraph,  that 
binds  the  highest  archangel.  Back  of  all  the  sophistries 
of  the  heart,  beneath  all  the  apologies  with  which  con- 
science is  overlaid,  you  can  read  upon  it,  as  if  graven 
with  a  pen  of  iron  and  the  point  of  a  diamond — Keep 
the  commandments.  Breathe  out  your  soul  in  prayer. 
Make  your  life  a  hymn  of  praise.  Let  all  your  affections 
be  set  on  things  above.  Live  as  Christ  did.  Carry 
heaven's  own  atmosphere  of  holiness  and  charity  with 
you  to  your  daily  tasks.  Turn  every  hour  into  a  season 
of  worship,  of  holy  service.  Act,  speak,  think  always 


TERMS  OF  THE  LIFE  ETERNAL. 


129 


just  as  you  should  to  be  ready  to  stand  at  the  bar  of  a 
heart-searching  God.  Make  every  moment  of  these  years 
a  fitting  introduction  to  that  glorious  sequel, "  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant." 

Why  not  ?  Are  you  not  bound  to  do  it  ?  Has  not 
God  a  right  to  demand  it  ?  Has  He  not  in  fact  de- 
manded it  ?  Can  He  be  God,  the  God  of  his  creatures, 
and  require  less?  What  is  the  use  of  a  conscience 
if  it  does  not  say  Amen  to  the  justice  of  this  com- 
mand? 

Begin  this  obedience,  then.  Begin  it  now.  Do  you 
fancy  it  is  an  easy  thing  ?  Try  it !  Commit  your  whole 
soul  to  it,  and  see  whether  you  are  ever  like  to  reach 
heaven.  Ah !  then  you  will  see  what  you  never  saw,  per- 
haps, before.  You  will  find  that  you  have  an  evil  heart 
of  unbelief,  of  disobedience,  of  rebellion.  You  will  find 
that  the  law  is  wide  and  broad.  You  will  find  the  truth 
of  St.  Paul's  words,  "  By  the  deeds  of  the  law  shall  no 
flesh  be  justified."  Every  step  of  your  effort  will  carry 
you  lower  down  in  your  own  self-esteem.  You  will  see 
what  you  have  done — what  you  have  failed  to  do,  what 
disobedience  you  are  guilty  of,  what  fatal  infirmity  clings 
to  your  sin-palsied  soul.  You  will  be  brought  to  the 
verge  of  despair.  You  will  be  cast  down  into  the  dust 
before  God.  You  will  see  the  just  terrors  of  a  holy,  but 
a  violated  law.  You  will  begin  to  feel  what  a  trans- 
gressor deserves. 

But  there  is  no  Gospel  hope  for  you  till  you  are  brought 
to  that  point — till  that  holy  law  you  have  broken  has 
struck  your  hand  loose  from  all  your  false  props,  so  that 
no  human  hope  is  left  you  on  which  to  lean.  Then  pos- 
sibly you  may  be  ready  to  cry  out — "  Lord,  save  or  I 
perish !"  Then  you  may  exclaim,  with  the  tremulous 
C* 


130  LIFE  LESSONS. 

emotion  of  a  sinner  just  ready  to  sink  to  hell,  "  God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner/7 

Ah  !  this  is  the  extremity  to  which  every  sinner  needs 
to  be  brought.  Then,  perhaps,  he  will  plead  for  mercy. 
Then,  perhaps,  angels  bending  over  him  with  agonizing 
'  sympathy,  may  shout  back  to  heaven  the  glad  intelli- 
gence— "  Behold,  he  prayeth  !" 

Then,  too,  you  will  be  prepared  to  appreciate  the  Gos- 
pel. You  will  see  the  love  of  G-od,  and  his  readiness  to 
forgive,  manifested  in  that  provision  by  which  He  can  be 
just,  and  yet  the  justifier  of  him  that  believeth  in  Jesus. 
And  it  may  be  that  then  the  glory  of  Redemption  will 
burst  upon  your  view.  It  may  be  that  Christ  will  ap- 
pear— no  longer  as  "  a  root  out  of  dry  ground  without 
form  or  comeliness"  but — as  "  the  chief  among  ten  thou- 
sand, and  the  one  altogether  lovely/7  and  you  will  no 
longer  wonder  that  Paul  should  exclaim,  overwhelmed 
by  the  grandeur  and  grace  of  the  scheme  of  Redemption, 
"  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory  save  in  the  cross  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.77 


XVI. 

THE  FATAL  LACK. 

"  One  thing  thou  lackest."— MARK  x.  21. 

ONE  thing  thou  lackest!  One  thing!  Only  one? 
What  is  that  among  many?  Perhaps  it  is  one 
among  fifty,  all  of  equal  importance,  but  neither  essential, 
and  so  may  be  dropped  out  of  account. 

But  sometimes  the  lack  of  just  one  thing,  is  virtually 
the  lack  of  all.  A  ship  on  the  ocean  might  lose  a  sail  or 
even  a  mast,  and  still  keep  on  its  way.  But  what  if  it 
should  lose  its  rudder  ?  One  might  chip  off  great  blocks 
from  a  large  granite  arch,  and  the  pile  might  still  stand 
firm  ;  but  what  if  it  should  lose  its  keystone  ?  So  a  man 
may  lack  many  things.  He  may  have  a  scant  wardrobe. 
He  may  lack  many  a  comfort.  He  may  be  exposed  to 
hardships,  but  what  if  he  lacks  religious  faith  ?  What 
if  he  lacks  the  warrant  to  say,  God  and  Heaven  are  mine ! 
Is  it  not  like  the  loss  of  the  rudder  ?  Is  it  not  like  the 
loss  of  the  keystone  ? 

The  one  thing  which  meets  man's  great  want,  which 
alone  fits  him  to  live  and  prepares  him  to  die,  without 
which  he  is  orphaned  from  hope,  and  with  which  no 
calamity  can  more  than  temporarily  depress  him,  the  one 
thing  which  leads  him  to  live  with  a  right  purpose,  which 
consecrates  all  his  aims,  which  gives  him  a  constant 
refuge,  which  gilds  with  light  the  darkest  clond,  which 


132  LIFE  LESSONS. 

brings  relief  to  fear  and  foreboding,  which  brings  with  it 
down  to  the  darkened  stormy  spirit  the  light  and  peace 
of  God,  which  makes  the  weary  journey  of  life  a  pilgrim- 
age to  heaven,  and  which  alone  teaches  the  triumphant 
song,  "  0  death !  where  is  thy  sting  ?  0  grave !  where  is 
thy  victory  ?" — the  one  thing  that  does  all  this,  is  religi- 
ous faith,  the  faith  by  which  being  justified,  we  have  peace 
with  God  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

It  is  but  one  thing,  but  how  many  ends  does  it  sub- 
serve !  The  light  of  the  sun  is  but  one  thing,  yet  what 
would  the  world  be^without  it,  but  a  drear,  barren,  fro- 
zen desert  ?  It  thaws  the  ice.  It  softens  the  clod.  It 
kindles  life  in  the  sleeping  seed.  It  calls  up  the  grass 
blade.  It  opens  the  bud.  It  spreads  out  the  leaf.  It 
ripens  the  harvest,  and  it  cheers  all  nature  and  air  the 
scenes  of  human  life  with  its  genial  beams.  What  that 
is  to  this  visible  world,  that  the  light  of  the  glory  of  God 
in  the  face  of  Jesus  is  to  the  redeemed  soul.  Will  you 
put  out  that  light ;  or  will  you  thut  yourself  from  it  ? 
Yet  without  that  faith  which  a  lost  and  ruined  sinner  is 
called  to  exercise  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  his  Saviour, 
he  shuts  out  by  the  clouds  of  his  guilt  those  beams  of 
love  and  grace  which  alone  will  thaw  his  cold  and  frozen 
heart,  and  turn  it  into  the  Eden  of  peace  and  holiness. 

So  the  air  you  breathe  is  but  one  thing.  Yet  what 
would  life  be  without  it  ?  You  would  only  gasp  and  die  ! 
Every  thing  would  sink  to  the  motionless  repose  of  the 
grave.  In  one  instant  the  earth  would  be  wrapped  in 
the  pall  of  death.  Yet  what  is  the  soul  without  the 
atmosphere  of  faith  and  prayer  ? 

"  Prayer  is  the  Christian's  vital  breath, 
The  Christian's  native  air." 


THE  FA TAL  LA CK.  133 

Let  him  lack  that  alone,  and  of  what  avail  is  all  else  ? 
A  man  rich,  and  wise,  and  learned,  and  honored,  and 
robed,  and  sceptered  if  you  please,  that  cannot  pray ! — 
who  denies  himself  the  atmosphere  of  spiritual  life, — 
whose  instinctive  longings  make  him  gasp  for  the  unseen 
blessedness,  but  who  gasps  only  to  die ! 

The  lack  of  one  thing  then  may  be  a  fatal  lack !  It 
may  be  as  that  of  a  tree  without  roots,  a  desert  without 
water,  a  house  without  foundations,  a  painting  without 
colors,  a  state  without  laws,  a  world  without  a  God  ! 

Religious  faith,  though  but  one  thing,  implies  much. 
It  implies  knowledge  of  God,  the  sense  of  guilt,  repent- 
ance, faith  in  Christ  as  the  only  Saviour,  a  new  heart, 
pardon,  peace,  and  the  hope  of  eternal  life.  It  may  be 
compared  to  a  crown,  with  all  these  jewels  in  it.  The 
lack  of  one  is,  for  the  most  part,  the  lack  of  all.  What 
is  it  then  to  lose  the  crown  itself? 

Without  religion,  or  religious  faith,  you  have  no  proper 
sense  of  your  condition  and  guilt  in  the  sight  of  God.  If 
you  had,  you  would  not  continue  in  it.  But  what  means 
this  lack  ? 

A  man  unused  to  the  cold  of  the  polar  regions  sinks 
down  under  it,  becomes  almost  or  quite  insensible.  He 
feels  an  irresistible  inclination  to  sleep.  You  know  his 
danger  and  what  do  you  do  ?  You  try  to  rouse  him. 
You  tell  him  to  sleep  is  to  die.  He  needs  to  know  and 
realize  his  danger,  or  he  is  lost.  Is  it  not  so  with  the 
sinner?  He  is  disinclined  to  bestir  himself,  to  awake, 
to  repent.  He  would  be  let  alone,  and  sink  to  lethargy. 
What  is  the  result  ? 

So  without  religion,  there  is  no  repentance.  And  what 
is  a  sinner  without  repentance  ?  You  visit  a  prisoner  in 
his  cell.  He  is  guilty  and  depraved.  You  seek  to  soften 


134  LIFE  LESSONS. 

his  hard  heart.  You  array  before  him  the  features  of 
his  crime.  But  you  make  no  impression.  You  feel  that 
that  iron  insensibility  is  a  coat  of  mail  wrapped  about 
his  sin,  and  while  it  remains  unpierced,  you  have  no  hope 
of  him. 

But  are  not  you  a  sinner  against  the  Majesty  on  high  ? 
And  has  your  heart  never  been  melted  in  shame  and  sor- 
row under  it  ?  Have  you  never  thought  of  that  wonder- 
ful, infinite  goodness  of  your  heavenly  Father  against 
which  you  have  sinned  ?  Have  you  refused  to  look  on 
that  infinite  loveliness  and  gentleness  that  have  been 
arrayed  before  you  from  early  years  ?  Has  nothing,  not 
even  the  love  of  Jesus,  or  the  pathos  of  that  deathless 
affection  exhibited  on  the  cross,  been  enough  to  win  your 
heart  ?  Must  we  not  say,  in  vain  is  all  else,  genius,  art, 
energy,  worldly  blessings,  while  that  heart,  hard  as  the 
granite,  is  impervious  to  the  love  of  God  ? 

Again,  faith  in  Christ  as  the  only  Saviour  is  a  necessity, 
the  one  thing  needful.  A  man,  we  will  suppose,  has 
fallen  into  a  deep  pit.  He  cannot  climb  up  its  steep 
sides  ;  he  cannot  contrive  by  any  art  of  his  own  to  escape. 
But  from  above  a  rope  ladder  is  let  down  to  him,  evi- 
dently by  some  friendly  hand.  He  sees  no  one,  but  he 
hears  a  voice  calling  to  him,  and  telling  him  to  lay  hold 
of  it,  and  climb  up  by  it.  What  shall  he  do  ?  What 
must  he  do  ?  Suppose  he  should  call  out,  will  it  hold  me  ? 
— and  gets  no  answer.  Suppose  he  waits  long,  and  watches 
to  see  whether  it  will  be  withdrawn.  How  you  stand 
ready  to  rebuke  his  folly,  and  tell  him,  linger  not ;  it  is 
your  only  hope. 

But  sin  has  plunged  every  one  of  us  into  the  pits  of 
guilt  and  hopeless  condemnation,  from  which  there  is  no 
escape  by  any  art  or  device  of  our  own.  We  have  fallen 


THE  FA  TAL  LA  CK.  1 3  5 

to  the  depths  of  guilt,  of  ingratitude  and  disobedience, 
from  which  we  can  be  delivered  only  by  help  from  above. 
How  we  are  constrained  to  look  up  and  see  if  any  one 
appears  to  help  us !  And  while  we  watch,  behold  a  lad- 
der let  down  to  us,  a  ladder  shaped  as  if  from  the  cross, 
and  a  voice  is  heard  bidding  us  cling  to  it,  and  climb  by 
it.  Is  it  rejected?  What  a  lack  there  is  of  this  obedi- 
ent faith!  We  are  left  without  atonement,  without  a 
Saviour,  without  help  or  relief,  arfd  sink  only  to  despair. 

Again.  Pardon  is  needed.  A  man  becomes  a  crimi- 
nal or  a  traitor,  and  so  is  outlawed.  He  shrinks  away  in 
fear  of  apprehension.  What  is  necessary  to  calm  and 
disperse  his  fears  but  pardon  ?  And  have  not  all  of  us 
incurred  the  guilt  of  rebellion  against  the  King  of  kings  ? 
Is  it  not  written,  he  that  believeth  not,  is  condemned 
already  ?  But  upon  a  man  without  religion,  or  religious 
faith,  that  condemnation  still  abides.  Nothing  but  the 
grace  of  a  pardoning  God  can  ever  take  it  away.  But 
to  lack  pardon,  to  remain  here  and  drift  on  to  Eternity 
and  the  judgment  seat  unforgiven,  to  have  the  load  of 
guilt  still  resting  with  crushing  weight  upon  the  soul 
whenever  it  ventures  to  think,  or  is  made  to  feel,  what 
can  compensate  for  all  this  ?  There  is  thev  guilty  one, 
under  sentence  of  the  court.  See  him,  while  the  words 
keep  ringing  their  echoes  in  his  ear,  trying  to  master  and 
control  himself!  What  will  all  else  avail  him?  Well- 
born, well-bred,  gifted  with  genius  and  taste,  with  friends, 
that  yet  plead  for  him  in  vain,  with  wealth  that  yet  will 
not  buy  his  ransom ;  what  does  all  this  avail  without 
pardon  ? 

What  is  the  lack  of  religious  faith  then  but  the  lack  of 
what  is  vital,  of  what  you  need  most,  the  sense  of  your  con- 
dition as  a  sinner,  a  penitent  spirit ;  the  faith  that  can  say 


136  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Christ  is  mine  ;  peace  with  God  your  Maker  ;  the  sense 
of  pardoning  love,  and  the  hope  of  immortal  blessedness  ? 
These  constitute  the  life  of  the  soul,  and  how  does  Scrip- 
ture describe  your  condition  except  as  that  of  one  dead  in 
trespasses  and  sins  ? 

One  thing !  But  who  can  tell  its  importance  ?  You 
stand  by  the  bier  of  one  you  loved.  You  lean  down  orer 
the  coffin  lid.  What  do  you  see  ?  The  form  and  features, 
the  same  that  have  long  been  familiar,  all  are  there. 
There  is  the  brow  calm,  but  still  suggestive  of  the  thoughts 
that  once  glowed  beneath  it.  There  is  the  eye,  closed 
indeed,  but  the  same  that  once  beamed  with  love.  There 
are  the  lips  that  once  breathed  forth  the  music  of  speech 
and  the  tones  of  affection.  But  though  you  call  there  is 
no  answer,  though  you  gaze  there  is  no  answering  smile ! 
What  does  it  mean  ?  One  thing  is  lacking.  Only  one — 
but  that  is  life. 

Here  is  an  emblem  of  the  soul  without  faith.  Is  it  an 
emblem  of  your  soul  ?  Is  it  true  of  you  that  you  have 
not  the  life  of  God  in  you  ?  Can  you  be  content  with 
such  a  lack  ;  you  who  labor  to  supply  the  ten  thousand 
wants  of  your  perishing  body  ;  you  that  spare  no  pains 
to  secure  a  single  comfort ;  you  to  whom  the  Lord  of  Life 
comes  with  the  offer  to  supply  your  greatest  need  ? 

Are  you  amid  these  solemn  privileged  scenes  an  atten- 
dant as  it  were,  at  your  soul's  funeral  ?  .  Oh  that  you 
might  heed  now  His  words,  the  words  of  Him  who  once 
by  the  bier  of  the  dead,  said,  Arise  I 


XVII. 

LIFE  FROM  THE  DEAD. 

"  The  power  of  God  to  salvation." — ROM.  i.  16. 

NOT  long  since  I  heard  a  man  describe  the  manner  in 
which  he  arrested  a  thief  who  attempted  by  night 
to  rob  his  money  drawer.  The  criminal  was  a  young  man 
whom  he  had  befriended,  and  whose  character,  till  that 
time,  had  been  regarded  as  reputable.  When  detected, 
he  begged  piteously  that  he  might  not  be  exposed.  But 
he  was  given  over  to  the  police  and  lodged  in  prison.  The 
man  whom  he  had  attempted  to  rob  went  the  next  morn- 
ing to  see  him,  and  he  found  him  a  picture  of  despair. 
His  pale  lips,  his  tortured  features,  his  agonizing  look, 
told  of  the  terrible  anguish  that  he  was  enduring. 

Surely  it  was  a  fearful  sight.  The  man  who  had  been 
ready  to  shoot  him  down  on  the  spot  when  he  arrested 
him,  was  melted  to  pity.  Every  revengeful  feeling  was 
gone.  But  he  knew  not  what  to  do.  He  wished  to  be 
merciful,  and  yet  he  felt  that  he  must  not  defraud  justice. 
He  wanted,  if  possible,  to  save  the  young  criminal,  and 
restore  him  to  the  paths  of  integrity  and  usefulness.  He 
could  refuse  to  appear  against  him,  but  the  question 
was — would  this  answer  ?  It  might  save  him  from  being 
sentenced  to  prolonged  imprisonment,  and  from  attendant 
disgrace,  but  would  it  make  him  that  he  should  be — 
would  it  save  him  ? 

(137) 


138  *       LIFE  LE880NS. 

There  were  two  things  that  he  needed — to  be  saved 
from  condemnation,  and  to  be  saved  from  himself,  and  a 
complete  salvation  would  include  both.  If,  released  from 
prison,  he  should  carry  back  with  him  into  society  all 
the  vices  of  the  past,  it  would  only  be  to  plunge  into 
deeper  ruin.  The  loss  of  character  and  self-respect  and 
self-control ;  the  habits  of  evil,  strengthened  by  indul- 
g£nce  and  familiarity  with  sin — all  would  combine  to 
precipitate  his  fate. 

Thus  we  see  that  if  a  man  has  done  evil,  two  things  are 
necessary  to  his  recovery  —  deliverance  from  the  con- 
demnation which  that  wickedness  brings  with  it,  and 
deliverance  from  the  wickedness  itself.  Both  are  njeces- 
sary  to  a  complete  salvation,  and  that  complete  salvation 
is  what  every  sinner  needs. 

In  the  first  place,  sin  is  the  violation  of  law,  and  that 
violation  calls  for  sentence  and  penalty.  This  is  the 
universal  rule.  In  God's  domain,  penalty  is  just  as  sure 
as  sin.  It  may  be  speedy,  or  it  may  be  slow,  but  it  is 
sure  to  come.  Just  as  sure  as  the  seed  ripens  to  the 
harvest,  just  as  sure  as  the  stone  falls  to  the  earth  when 
you  let  go  your  hold  of  it,  just  so  sure  is  the  penalty  of 
violated  law.  All  nature  and  all  history  are  alike 
crowded  with  the  evidence  and  the  warnings  of  this 
truth.  If  frost  will  wither  leaf  and  flower,  if  dissipation 
will  ruin  health,  if  lack  of  principle  will  incur  contempt 
and  loss  of  character,  every  violation  of  God's  statutes  is 
sure  to  be  visited  with  judgment.  Human  courts  may 
not  take  the  matter  up.  Public  opinion  may  overlook  it. 
The  guilty  deed  may  be  buried  in  darkness — it  may  have 
been  done  by  stealth,  without  a  human  witness  ;  but  it 
cannot  finally  escape.  The  soul  will  witness  against 
itself.  Memory  will  keep  the  guilty  record.  The  hour 


LIFE  FROM  TIIE  DEAD. 


139 


of  reflection  will  come  at  last,  and  if  a  too  early  death 
adjourns  it  over  to  the  unseen  world  it  will  be  only — so 
all  earthly  analogies  teach  us — to  make  the  final  reckon- 
ing more  terrible. 

Besides,  no  sin,  no  evil  thought  or  desire  can  escape 
the  notice  or  fail  to  meet  the  disapprobation  of  God.  It 
cannot  escape  his  notice,  for  to  his  eye  every  thought  and 
feeling  is  as  palpable  as  the  hills  and  rocks  are  to  us. 
It  cannot  escape  his  disapprobation,  for  everything — 
every  moral  act — is  to  him  either  good  or  evil,  either  to 
be  approved  or  disapproved.  It  is,  therefore,  forever 
under  his  judgment.  And  that  judgment,  covering  every 
deed  of  life,  is  an  eternal  judgment.  It  is  the  judgment 
of  an  eternal  God — the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  for- 
ever. So  that  he  that  belie veth  not  is  condemned 
already.  Sin  implies  condemnation. 

And  what  is  the  condemnation  that  God  pronounces 
on  sin  ?  It  is  the  condemnation  of  the  law  against  every 
violation  of  it.  It  is  the  sentence  due  to  a  disregard  of 
the  end  for  which  man  was  made  ;  due  to  treason  against 
God's  authority  ;  due  to  the  abuse  of  his  goodness  ;  due 
to  the  contempt  of  his  mercy  ;  due  to  the  debasement  and 
degradation,  and  ruin  of  a  soul  entrusted  as  an  infinite 
treasure  to  our  keeping.  And  let  the  sinner  himself  say 
what  that  ought  to  be !  Say  what  is  due  to  your  own 
guilt  for  defeating  the  end  of  your  being,  for  turning  as 
it  were,  to  a  crawling  worm,  what  should  have  soared 
beyond  the  eagle's  flight  on  the  wings  of  faith  and  love  ; 
for  having  transformed  God's  temple  into  an  idol's  shrine  ; 
for  having  stifled  in  the  dust  of  sensuality  and  worldli- 
ness,  aspirations  that  should  have  stopped  at  nothing 
short  of  a  heavenly  birthright  as  a  child  of  God  ?  What 
do  you  deserve  for  having  dethroned  God  in  your  affec- 


140  LIFE  LESSONS. 

tions,  for  having  trodden  under  foot  the  blood  of  redemp- 
tion, for  having  grieved  the  Spirit  that  would  convince 
you  of  sin  and  lead  you  to  the  mercy-seat  as  a  suppliant  ? 
What  do  you  deserve  for  restraining  prayer  and- with- 
holding praise,  for  giving  to  the  creature  what  is  due 
only  to  the  Creator  ;  for  spurning  the  duties  and  the  priv- 
ileges of  an  heir  of  heaven  ;  for  disqualifying  your  soul 
utterly  for  the  service  and  worship  of  the  sanctuary  above ! 

If  some  one  had  undermined  and  blown  up  with  gun- 
powder some  great  structure  like  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
or  the  Tower  of  London,  what  would  have  been  said  of 
him  ?  But  the  ruin  of  a  soul  is  more  than  the  ruin  of  a 
tower  or  cathedral,  for  it  is  designed  as  God's  spiritual 
temple.  What  could  sting  and  torture  you  more  than  to 
have  some  worthless  favorite  steal  away  the  affections  of 
husband,  or  wife,  or  child  ?  What  robbery  could  com- 
pare with  it  ?  Yet  what  is  the  condemnation  due  to  rob- 
bing God  of  your  love,  turning  his  glorious  name  by  your 
sin  into  a  word  of  terror,  offering  him  scarce  the  mockery 
of  a  passing  recognition,  and  living  without  any  reference 
to  his  will  ? 

Condemnation  for  all  this  is  ensured  by  God's  own  jus- 
tice. The  law  does  not  go  beyond  what  a  properly  en- 
lightened conscience  approves.  And  yet  its  sentence — 
the  sentence  that  overhangs  all  sin — that  is  suspended 
over  the  head  of  every  transgressor — is  fearful  indeed. 
He  is  to  be  shut  out  from  the  glory  he  scorned.  He  is 
to  be  denied  the  mercy  he  refused  to  seek.  He  is  to  hear 
the  words, "  depart  ye  cursed."  His  lot  is  to  be  with  the 
enemies  of  God  forever.  He  is  given  over  to  everlasting 
self-accusation,  to  bitter  remorse,  to  the  anguish  of  des- 
pair. The  wrath  of  God  abideth  on  him.  There  is  no 
place  for  him  in  all  the  realms  of  light  and  glory,  in  all 


LIFE  FROM  THE  DEAD. 


141 


the  mansions  that  Christ  has  gone  before  to  prepare. 
There  is  not  a  pure  heart  in  heaven,  not  a  sinless  or  ran- 
somed spirit  before  the  throne,  with  which  he  can  sympa- 
thize. His  portion  is  with  those  that  forget  God,  that 
are  cast  into  outer  darkness,  that  are  left  to  reap  the 
eternal  harvest  of  their  own  sin,  to  eat  of  the  fruit  of  their 
own  way.  All  is  summed  up  in  this,  the  soul  that  sin- 
neth  it  shall  die !  It  is  dead  thenceforth  to  all  that  con- 
stitutes the  proper  life  of  the  soul,  dead  to  the  joys  of 
holiness,  to  the  attractions  of  Christ,  to  the  life  of  the 
redeemed. 

Who  can  contemplate  this  unmoved,  and  yet  who  can 
call  it  in  question  ?  Who  is  not  forced  to  confess,  "  all 
this  by  shutting  God  out  of  my  soul,  and  taking  the 
world  in,  do  I  deserve — all  this  is  my  rightful  portion  ?" 

But  where  is  deliverance  ?  The  law  cannot  be  re- 
pealed or  set  aside.  It  is  as  eternal  as  God  himself. 
His  existence  as  a  Holy  being  makes  the  law  of  holiness 
the  law  of  the  universe.  That  law  is  imprinted  on  every 
man's  conscience,  like  letters  so  inwoven  into  a  flag  that 
the  flag  must  perish  before  the  letters  will  fade.  The 
conscience  must  be  annihilated  before  it  can  fully  and 
finally  give  up  its  trust.  You  must  lose  your  conscious- 
ness as  a  moral  agent  before  you  can  cease  to  feel  the 
obligations  which  bind  you  as  a  creature  of  God  to  his 
service.  And  as  sure  as  the  law  exists,  so  sure  is  its 
penalty,  unless  deliverance  can  be  found,  which,  without 
putting  aside  the  law,  provides  pardon  for  the  guilty. 

Is  there  such  deliverance  ?  Does  it  not  become  every 
one  to  ask  ?  Is  not  this  the  one  great  want  of  guilty  man  ? 
There  is  the  tribunal  before  you,  only  a  little  way  off. 
You  are  moving  toward  it  every  day.  Each  passing 
moment,  each  returning  Sabbath,  biings  you  nearer. 


142  LIFE  LESSONS. 

There  is  the  judge,  before  whose  presence  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  shall  flee  away.  The  hour  is  at  hand  when 
your  doom  must  be  determined.  Can  you  doubt  what  it 
must  be,  if  you  can  offer  there  no  plea  for  mercy  ?  Is  it 
not  time  to  ask  whether  you  can  find  such  a  plea  ;  whether 
pardon  may  be  secured,  whether  deliverance  is  possible  ? 
What  sort  of  conduct  is  that  which  says,  "  I  know  that 
God  is  holy  and  that  I  am  a  sinner  against  him,  and  that 
I  must  be  arraigned  at  His  bar,  and  that  no  man  can  say 
how  soon  the  summons  may  come,  but  I  am  resolved  to 
give  no  heed  to  it,  to  dream  on  to  the  last,  to  rush  blindly 
upon  that  awful  future,  and  take  all  the  consequences  ?" 
Is  this  language,  though  practically  the  language  of  thou- 
sands, that  of  wisdom  or  folly,  that  of  prudence  or  despe- 
ration? Is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  guilty  of  it? 
Should  not  rather  everything  else  yield  to  the  question 
of  your  salvation  ?  Should  not  all  the  powers  of  reason 
and  reflection  be  concentrated  here?  Have  you  any 
right  to  rest  content  till  you  know  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  salvation  from  condemnation  ? 

Either  there  is,  or  there  is  not.  If  there  is  not,  then 
all  the  messages  that  suggest  it  are  false,  and  all  the 
hopes  that  aspire  to  it  are  vain,  and  all  the  thousands 
who  have  cheered  themselves  in  the  joyous  confidence 
that  God  had  forgiven  their  sins,  have  been  mistaken* 
We  may  sit  down  in  the  dust  and  wrap  around  us  the 
mantle  of  despair,  or  we  may  madly  make  the  most  of  the 
few  transient  joys  that  flash  like  fire-flies  through  the 
twilight  of  our  woe,  and  say  to  ourselves,  "  let  us  eat  and 
drink  for  tomorrow  we  die!"  We  may  stupify  con- 
science and  brutify  reason,  and  settle  down  to  an  irresist- 
ible fate,  but  surely,  even  there,  our  very  despair  would 
bear  about  it  some  shreds  of  sense  and  propriety,  and 


LIFE  FROM  THE  DEAD.  143 

we  might  have  the  consolation  of  feeling  that  we  endure 
and  await  nothing  which  it  was  possible  to  avert. 

But  if  deliverance  from  condemnation  is  possible,  where 
is  one  who  oflims  to  exercise  the  reason  and  the  thought- 
fulness  of  a  man  who  can  afford  to  regard  it  with  indif- 
ference ?  Who  should  not  inquire  into  it,  and  learn  how 
he  may  himself  be  saved  ? 

But  the  very  end  and  scope  of  the  Gospel  is  to  declare 
that  deliverance  found,  and  to  reveal  its  method.  A  Sa- 
viour has  come  to  our  world,  and  we  are  taught  that 
whosoever  believeth  in  him  is  not  condemned.  The  con- 
victed jailer,  like  the  thousands  on  the  day  of  Pentecost, 
cries  out,  inquiring  what  he  must  do  to  be  saved,  and  the 
reply  is  ever,  "  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  Hear 
the  Apostle  himself,  once  a  persecutor,  exclaiming,  "  There  • 
is  now  no  condemnation  to  them  that  are  in  Christ  Jesus, 
that  walk  not  after  the  flesh  but  after  the  Spirit."  And 
as  the  centuries  pass,  thousands  take  up  the  strain,  and 
other  thousands  catch  it  from  their  dying  lips,  and  roll 
it  on  till  to-day  from  distant  lands,  from  souls  once  bound 
down  in  heathen  despair,  comes  up  the  fresh  and  living 
testimony,  the  testimony  of  what  they  know,  and  what 
they  have  felt  themselves,  that  it  is  gloriously  true. 
"  There  is  no  condemnation  to  them  that  are  in  Christ 
Jesus." 

Have  you  no  desire  for  this  deliverance  ?  The  Gospel 
comes  to  tell  you  of  it.  Jesus  is  speaking  of  it  to  you 
through  human  lips.  Do  you  listen  indiiferent  ? 


XVIII. 

"THE  WONDERFUL." 

"  His  name  shall  be  called  Wonderful." — Is.  ix.  6. 

A  WONDERFUL  Being  must  He  be,  one  for  whom 
no  history  of  man  can  find  a  precedent  or  a  paral- 
lel, who  presumes  to  interpose  in  behalf  of  a  lost  race, 
and  who  in  doing  it,  proclaims  Himself  "  mighty  to  save." 
He  must  be  one  who  is  warranted  to  interpose — one  who 
while  he  pities  the  lost,  is  fitted  to  appear  in  their  be- 
half before  the. majesty  on  high — one  so  lowly  that  he  can 
take  us  by  the  hand — one  so  exalted  that  He  can  bear  us 
with  Him  to  heaven. 

And  as  such  is  Christ  revealed  to  us.  Scripture 
showers  upon  Him  titles  which  it  would  be  impious  to 
address  to  a  creature.  He  is  "  the  Wonderful,  the  Coun- 
sellor, the  mighty  God,  the  Father  of  Eternity  (everlast- 
ing Father),  the  Prince  of  Peace."  He  is  "  the  Alpha 
and  Omega,  the  first  and  the  last,"  "  the  King  of  kings 
and  the  Lord  of  lords."  In  Him  dwells  "  all  the  fullness 
of  the  Godhead  bodily."  He  is  "  head  over  all  things  to 
the  Church,"  "  the  word  that  in  the  beginning  was  with 
God,  the  word  that  was  God."  He  is  the  Son  of  man, 
yet  the  "  Lord  of  the  Sabbath."  He  is  "  God  manifest 
in  the  flesh,"  and  has  "  power  on  earth  to  forgive  sins." 
He  heals  the  diseased,  gives  sight  to  the  blind,  raises  the 
dead,  quiets  the  storm,  feeds  the  multitude,  lays  down 

(144) 


"  7777?  WONDERFUL."  145 

His  life  and  takes  it  again.  He  needs  no  one  to  tell 
Him  of  the  human  heart,  for  "  He  knows  what  is  in  man." 
He  is  "  the  Messiah  that  was  to  come,"  who  could  tell 
His  hearers  "  all  things,"  who  could  say,  "  before  Abra- 
ham was,  I  am,"  thus  claiming  the  Jehovah-power  of  the 
great  I  AM.  He  is  the  one  whom  "  all  men  are  to  honor 
even  as  they  honor  the  Father,"  the  one  "  to  whom  every 
knee  is  to  bow  and  every  tongue  confess."  It  is  He  who 
alone  has  ever  ventured  or  felt  warranted  to  say,  "  Ye 
believe  in  God  believe  also  in  me."  We  may  not  speak 
of  any  one's  falling  asleep  in  Moses,  or  Paul,  or  David, 
but  we  do  speak  of  their  "  falling  asleep  in  Jesus."  He 
is  "  th«  resurrection  and  the  life."  He  is  that  Shepherd 
who  gives  his  flock  that  follow  Him  "  eternal  life,"  and 
He  has  such  power  that  no  one  can  pluck  them  out  of 
His  hand. 

Such  are  only  a  few  of  the  passages  in  which  the  great- 
ness of  Him  who  "  thought  it  not  robbery  to  be  equal 
with  God,"  though  He  took  upon  Him  the  form  of  a  ser- 
vant, is  described  to  us.  In  these  I  can  see  nothing  by 
which  to  institute  a  human  comparison.  We  are  dealing 
with  the  infinite  and  the  divine,  and  no  mortal  measure 
can  span  its  compass.  To  make  Jesus  merely  a  greater 
Enoch,  or  Isaiah,  or  Peter,  is  to  do  violence  not  merely 
to  the  history  of  His  sinless  and  heavenly  life,  but  to 
every  description  of  Him  in  the  Bible  which  does  not 
speak  specifically  of  His  human  nature,  His  growing  in 
wisdom  and  stature. 

We  may,  then,  assume  His  divinity  while  we  proceed 
to  consider  the  appropriateness  of  His  name  as  "  Won- 
derful." And  surely  each  attribute,  each  office,  each 
quality  is  the  more  wonderful  when  you  throw  around  it 
the  vesture  of  the  infinite,  when  you  clothe  it  with  the 
7 


146  LIFE  LESSONS. 

divine.  It  is  more  wonderful  when  you  multiply  it  by  the 
measurelessness  of  deity,  by  the  limitless  and  the  eternal. 

Christ  is  the  Wonderful  then  for  the  offices,  and  the 
variety  of  them  which  He  assumes  and  discharges. 

He  is  the  second  Adam,  for  as  the  first  was  the  father 
of  the  dying  and  introduced  death  into  the  world,  so  He 
is  the  Father  of  the  living,  for  He  is  the  resurrection 
and  the  life,  and  "whosoever  believeth  on  Him  shall 
never  die."  He  stands,  therefore,  as  a  new  Adam  at  the 
head  of  a  regenerated  race. 

He  is  "  the  Amen,  the  faithful  and  true  witness."  All 
that  He  has  testified  of  God,  of  heaven,  of  hell,  of  sin 
and  judgment,  shall  be  verified.  Heaven  and  earth  may 
pass  away,  but  not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  all  He  has  ever 
uttered. 

He  is  the  sinner's  Advocate  ;  for  "  if  any  man  sin,  we 
have  an  advocate  with  the  Father,  even  Jesus  Christ,  the 
righteous." 

He  is  the  Angel  of  the  Covenant ;  for  through  Him  a 
covenant  of  mercy  is  made  and  confirmed  between  God 
and  man.  He  is  "  the  arm  of  the  Lord  to  be  revealed  " 
to  all  nations,  the  exhibition  of  His  power  and  grace 
combined.  He  is  "  the  Author,  and  at  the  same  time,  He 
is  the  Finisher  of  our  Faith.  He  originates  and  He  per- 
fects it.  He  leads  us  to  the  strait  gate,  and  He  brings 
us  to  the  gates  of  glory.  He  says,  at  first,  "  Come  unto 
me  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,"  and  at  last, "  Come 
ye  blessed  of  my  Father." 

He  is  the  Branch,  that  is  to  grow  up  out  of  His  place, 
that  is  to  build  the  temple  of  the  Lord,  and  that  is  to  give 
salvation  to  Judah  and  safety  to  Israel,  and  is  to  be 
known  as  "  the  Lord  our  Righteousness."  So  He  was 
foretold  and  so  was  it  fulfilled. 


"THE  WONDERFUL."  147 

He  is  the  Bread  of  Life.  It  is  the  truth  that  is  sym- 
bolized to  us  by  His  broken  body  and  flowing  blood,  that 
is  our  nourishment.  Our  souls  would  die  if  they  could 
not  look  to  a  crucified  Saviour  and  be  fed. 

He  is  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation.  He  leads  the 
way  as  we  march  through  temptations  and  trials  to  the 
noblest  conquest.  He  marshals  all  the  means  that  are 
necessary  to  secure  our  salvation,  and  then  as  our  Cap- 
tain makes  the  traces  of  His  own  footsteps  our  path  to 
triumph. 

He  is  the  Chief  Shepherd  ;  for  while  his  servants  watch 
for  souls  as  those  that  must  give  account ;  while  they  are 
diligent  to  lead  their  flock,  He  is  diligent  to  lead  them. 
He  watches  over  all. 

He  is  the  Consolation  of  Israel.  He  consoles  His 
Church  in  all  her  trials  and  disasters.  He  makes  light 
arise  upon  her  darkness.  He  gives  the  oil  of  joy  for 
mourning  and  the  garments  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of 
heaviness. 

He  is  the  Chief  Corner-stone,  the  foundation  on  which 
prophets  and  apostles,  evangelists  and  martyrs,  and  the 
whole  structure  of  the  Church  from  first  to  last  reposes. 

He  is  the  Counsellor.  "In  Him  are  hidden  all  the 
treasures  both  of  wisdom  and  knowledge."  He  can  give 
that  counsel  which  can  meet  all  the  wants  and  emergen- 
cies of  life,  the  counsel  that  is  always  suited  to  all  our 
wants. 

He  is  that  David,  beloved  one,  of  whom  David  was 
the  type,  that  should  save  the  flock  of  God  and  be  their 
Shepherd.  He  is  the  Soot  and  Offspring  of  David,  his 
descendant  and  his  original — to  whom  David  could  say 
at  once,  my  son  and  my  king.  He  is  the  Day  spring  from 
on  high  that  hath  visited  us,  that  chases  away  our  night 


148 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


of  ignorance  and  despair,  and  brings  us  the  dawn  of 
heaven.  He  is  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  that  rises  on  us 
with  healing  in  His  beams.  He  brings  us  the  noonday 
of  hope  and  life,  He  makes  this  desert,  this  wilderness, 
this  vale  of  tears,  radiant  with  the  light  of  heaven.  And 
yet  He  is  the  Star  that  should  come  out  of  Jacob,  and 
the  Sceptre  that  should  arise  out  of  Israel.  He  is  the 
bright  and  the  morning  star,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  for 
He  leads  our  way  in  the  darkest  night  to  the  hope  of  sal- 
vation. He  is  the  light  of  the  world,  without  which  the 
gloom  of  ignorance  and  guilt,  and  foreboding,  and  con- 
demnation, and  error,  and  delusion,  would  have  covered 
the  nations.  He  is  the  true  light  that  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world,  the  true  fountain  of  enlight- 
ened reason,  and  piety,  and  devotion,  without  whom  we 
should  ever,  living  and  dying,  only  stumble  on  the  dark 
mountains  ;  the  true  light  in  which  there  is  no  admixture 
of  falsehood  or  error.  He  is  the  brightness  of  the  Father's 
glory,  the  revealed  image  of  Him  who  dwells  in  light 
which  no  man  can  approach  unto,  the  truth  and  holiness 
and  love  of  God  transcribed  in  living  expressions  upon 
the  tablet  of  that  human  nature  which  Christ  assumed, 
for  "  he  that  was  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  he  alone 
hath  declared  Him."  He  is  the  desire  of  all  nations,  the 
one  whom  all  nations  need  and  long  for,  for  u  the  whole 
creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  until 
now,"  and  "  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature  wait- 
eth  for  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God."  He  is 
God's  elect  one,  chosen  for  this,  that  "  He  shall  not  fail 
or  be  discouraged,  till  He  have  set  judgment  in  the 
earth,  and  the  isles  shall  wait  for  His  law."  He  is  a 
witness  to  the  people,  the  faithful  and  true  Witness  who 
testifies  to  a  sinful,  guilty,  and  dying  world  the  things  of 


"  THE  WONDERFUL" 


149 


God.  He  is  our  forerunner ',  who  has  gone  before  us,  en- 
tering into  that  which  is  within  the  veil,  the  object  of 
our  hope,  and  requiring  us  to  meet  no  foe,  but  what  He 
has  already  met  and  vanquished.  He  is  our  leader,  who 
marks  with  His  blood-stained  footsteps  the  path  of  our 
cross  and  self-denial.  He  is  our  example,  the  pattern  for 
our  lives,  the  perfect  standard,  the  one  who  could  say,  "  I 
have  given  you  an  example  that  ye  should  do,  as  I  have 
done  unto  you."  He  is  our  Lord,  the  Lord  of  all,  the 
Lord  of  glory,  the  Lord  God  of  the  holy  prophets,  the 
Lord  God  Almighty,  and  yet  our  servant,  for  He  "  came 
not  to  be  ministered  unto  but  to  minister  and  to  give 
His  life  a  ransom  for  many."  He  is  "  the  chief  among  ten 
thousand,  the  one  altogether  lovely  ;"  He  is  "  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  and  the  lily  of  the  valley,"  for  in  Him  greatness 
and  humility,  majesty  and  loveliness  are  combined.  He 
is  the  Lion  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  and  yet  the  Lamb,  the 
Lamb  of  God  ;  for  while  His  power  is  resistless  and  ter- 
rible, and  He  can  prevail  where  no  others  can,  yet  "  as  a 
lamb  was  he  led  to  the  slaughter,  and  as  a  sheep  before 
his  shearers  is  dumb,  so  opened  he  not  his  mouth."  And 
with  all  His  meek  innocence,  He  is  our  Passover,  our 
Paschal  Lamb,  whose  blood  of  sprinkling,  like  that  of  the 
Passover  of  old  on  the  door  posts  of  the  dwelling,  stays  for 
us  the  hand  of  the  avenging  and  destroying  angel  of  jus- 
tice. He  is  the  ivay,  the  truth  and  the  life.  By  Him 
we  come  to  God,  by  Him  we  have  the  promise,  and 
through  Him  we  live.  He  is  that  eternal  life,  the  foun- 
tain of  living  waters,  "  of  which  if  a  man  drink  he  shall 
never  thirst,  but  live  forever."  He  is  our  Shiloh,  our 
peace,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  who  could  say,  "  Peace  I 
leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you,  not  as  the 
world  giveth  give  I  unto  you  ;"  for  it  is  through  Him 


I5o  LIFE  LESSONS. 

that  the  offending  rebel  is  reconciled  to  his  offended  Sov- 
ereign ;  through  Him  that  he  attains  to  "  that  peace  that 
passeth  all  understanding."  He  is  our  high  priest  and 
Intercessor,  for  He  "  enters  for  us  into  the  holiest  place," 
and  presents  the  sacrifice  in  the  name  of  His  whole  peo- 
ple. He  is  Himself  the  voluntary  sacrifice  for  our  guilt, 
He  is  our  ransom,  He  is  our  Deliverer,  He  is  our  Jesus, 
Saviour,  He  is  our  Redeemer,  "  the  propitiation  for  our 
sins  and  not  for  ours  only  but  for  the  sins  of  the  whole 
world."  He  is  the  Good  Shepherd  "  that  lays  down  his 
life  for  the  sheep."  He  finds  us  captives,  He  breaks  our 
chains,  He  pays  our  forfeit, "  not  by  corruptible  things  as 
silver  and  gold,  but  by  His  own  precious  blood."  He 
pledges  His  life  to  secure  our  ransom.  Thus  He  becomes 
the  horn  of  our  salvation,  the  strength  and  security  of  it. 
He  becomes  our  Mediator,  standing  between  us  and  God,  to 
open  the  way  for  our  petition,  and  hand  us  down  our 
pardon  from  the  throne,  screening  from  our  eyes  through 
the  veil  of  His  own  flesh,  that  terrible  majesty  which  no 
man  can  see  and  live.  Thus,  too,  He  becomes  tJie  door 
through  which  alone  we  can  enter  the  home  of  heaven, 
the  dwelling  of  our  Father  from  which  by  sin  we  are  self- 
exiled,  and  within  which  alone  we  find  peace,  and  pardon, 
and  blessedness.  Thus,  too,  He  becomes  the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life,  the  Prince  of  Life,  and  bestows  upon  His 
followers  immortality,  and  makes  "  death  to  be  swallowed 
up  of  life."  He  is  the  Sock,  the  Rock  of  Ages.  Who- 
soever builds  his  hopes  on  Him  is  safe. 

He  is,  moreover,  our  prophet,  for  he  speaks  to  us  the 
word  of  G-od,  he  draws  the  veil  of  eternity  and  lets  us 
look  beyond  the  grave,  at  the  judgment  and  the  scenes 
behind  that  are  to  follow  it.  He  is  our  King — "  the 
King  of  Israel,"  "the  King  of  saints,"  "  the  King  of  kings," 


"THE  WONDERFUL."  151 

to  whom  we  owe  perfect  and  entire  allegiance.  He  is 
our  Lawgiver — his  life  and  example  and  instructions  and 
commands  are  our  highest  law,  and  to  present  them 
secures  the  acknowledgement  of  their  justice.  He  is  our 
Judge  ;  his  words  judge  us  now,  and  in  the  Last  Day  the 
world  shall  be  arraigned  at  his  bar. 

Thus  do  we  see  how  appropriate,  from  the  varied  titles 
and  offices  of  Christ,  is  the  language  of  the  text,  in  which 
he  is  described.  He  is  truly  "  the  Wonderful"  in  whom 
all  these  things  meet. 

But  he  is  "  the  Wonderful,"  in  the  second  place,  because 
of  the  life  which  he  led  of  self-denial  and  benevolence. 
Look  at  that  life,  incomparable  and  unparalleled  in  all 
the  records  of  time.  See  how  every  thought,  word  and 
deed  was  made  to  point  to  the  specific  end  of  his  mission, 
the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  the  race.  The 
Lord  of  Angels  takes  the  form  of  a  servant ;  the  Maker 
of  the  world  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  He  whose 
word  stills  the  troubled  elements  of  nature,  and  hushes 
the  tempest  to  repose,  sleeps  fatigued  in  the  vessel,  or  sits 
down  weary  to  rest  himself  at  Jacob's  well.  If  he  could  say 
"  before  Abraham  was,  I  am,"  almost  in  the  same  breath 
he  speaks  of  tearing  down  the  temple  of  his  body.  The 
King  of  kings  becomes  the  man  of  sorrows.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  universe  accepts  the  hospitality  of  the  hum- 
ble family  of  Bethany.  He  who  controls  the  seasons, 
and  could  perfect  or  blast  the  harvests,  hungers  and 
thirsts.  He  whose  eye  could  take  in  the  universe  at  a 
glance,  comes  down  to  the  falling  sparrow  and  the  fading 
lily  for  his  lessons.  The  poor  Syrophenician  woman ;  the 
centurion ;  blind  Bartimeas ;  the  little  children,  whose 
bearers,  as  they  presented  them  for  a  blessing,  were  re- 
buked by  his  disciples ;  the  poor  widow  of  Nain — and 


152  LIFE  LESSONS. 

that  other  who  cast  "but  two  mites  into  the  treasury  while 
the  rich  cast  in  of  their  abundance  ;  and  that  other  still 
who  prevailed  on  the  hard  and  unrelenting  judge ;  the 
beggar  at  the  rich  man's  gate  ;  the  penitent  prodigal ;  the 
poor  humbled  publican  ;  the  weeping  sisters  at  the  tomb 
of  their  brother  Lazarus — none  of  these  are  beneath  the 
notice  of  that  Eye  that  sees  through  the  darkness  of  the 
grave,  his  own  resurrection,  and  the  bringing  home  of 
innumerable  sons  and  daughters  unto  glory.  Thus  the 
whole  life  of  Jesus  is  a  continuous  miracle,  a  wonder  of 
self-denying  benevolence.  There  is  no  turning  aside,  no 
digression  through  human  weakness,  but  he  presses  on 
straight  forward  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  life-work. 
Every  step  in  his  career  was  wonderful.  The  powers  of 
earth  and  hell,  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  combined  with 
the  hosts  of  darkness — Pilate  and  Satan  in  league — do 
not  force  him  to  swerve  from  his  career.  Persecution 
fronts  him  as  he  goes.  Treachery  delivers  him  to  the 
enemy.  Death  with  all  its  lingering  tortures  of  cruci- 
fixion stares  him  in  the  face,  but  still  he  presses  on,  and 
the  last  words  of  prayer  for  his  murderers  sealed  the  per- 
fect and  beautiful  consistency  of  a  life  devoted  to  God's 
glory  and  the  good  of  man. 

But  Christ  is  "  the  Wonderful"  from  the  lessons  which 
he  taught.  He  is  the  great  Teacher,  and  all  the  records 
of  the  world  present  us  none  who  can  boast  of  what  his 
forerunner  John  declared  himself  unworthy  to  do.  No 
one  that  has  ever  lived  could  say,  "  I  am  worthy  to  un- 
loose his  sandals."  "  He  spake  as  never  man  spake" — 
was  the  testimony  of  his  prejudiced  hearers.  Human 
lips  never  uttered  before  or  since  a  sermon  to  be  com- 
pared with  that  upon  the  Mount.  His  parables  are 
cyclopedias  of  truth,  every  sentence  a  volume.  He  spake 


"  THE  WONDERFUL."  153 

as  one  having  authority,  and  not  as  the  Scribes.  Throngs 
followed  him  by  thousands,  and  yet  he  shunned  observa- 
tion and  rebuked  praise.  No  shady  grove  or  porticoed 
temple,  like  that  of  Athenian  philosophers,  was  selected 
as  the  special  site  of  instruction  ;  the  seashore,  bordered 
by  the  harvest  field,  the  mountain  side,  the  desert,  the 
streets  of  the  city,  were  hallowed  by  words  too  powerful 
and  sacred  to  need  halls  or  temples  of  human  fabric  to 
lend  them  a  sanction.  He  spoke  beneath  the  dome  of 
heaven,  and  no  encircling  walls  were  to  confine  a  speech 
that  was  to  go  abroad  through  all  the  earth,  and  its 
sound  to  the  end  of  the  world.  And  the  place  where  he 
spoke  was  typical  of  the  truth  he  uttered.  It  was  open 
to  all.  It  was  free  to  all.  It  acknowledged  no  peculiar 
respect  for  birth,  race  or  clime.  The  great  Teacher, 
first  of  all,  glanced  over  the  partition  walls  of  nations 
and  religions,  and  taught  what  he  alone  had  compre- 
hended— the  religious  unity  of  the  race. 

And  then  look  into  this  truth  which  his  prescient  mind 
directed  in  purpose  to  Jew  and  Samaritan,  to  the  age 
that  then  was,  and  the  ages  that  were  to  come.  It  is  the 
truth  of  heaven.  It  is  solid  instruction.  It  is  fact/  not 
theory.  The  earnest  glance  of  this  Teacher  pierced 
through  all  speculation,  all  sophistry,  and  swept  them 
aside,  that  he  might  gather  the  wheat  into  the  garner. 
From  what  lips  but  his  did  such  words,  such  truths,  such  les- 
sons, ever  proceed — just  what  we  want  to  know,  just  what 
we  should  know,  truths  that  take  hold  on  eternal  things, 
that  open  the  volume  of  our  immortal  destiny,  that  reveal 
God  to  us  as  King,  Father,  Judge,  and  Proprietor  of  all — 
that  open  bright  prospects  of  pardon  and  hope  and  bless- 
edness for  the  penitent,  and  gloomy  abysses  of  despair 

unutterable  for  the  guilty — truths  that  dawn  upon  our 

7* 


154  LIFE  LESSONS. 

night  like  a  heavenly  morning,  that  kindle  the  whole 
soul  in  all  its  faculties  to  a  new  life — truths  that  seem  by 
an  electric  power  to  reach  at  once  distant  continents  and 
far-off  ages,  that  have  nations  for  an  audience  and  centu- 
ries to  echo  their  tones  that  ring  on  like  the  pealing  thun- 
der along  the  hills,  till  they  lose  themselves  in  eternity — 
truths  that  do  not  sleep  in  the  soul  that  receives  them 
like  dry  logic,  or  fruitless  science,  but  are  a  seed,  a  leaven, 
a  life  within  ;  that  renovate  the  whole  nature  ;  that  like 
Christ,  their  Author,  cast  out  demons,  and  restore  a  man 
to  himself,  to  his  home,  and  his  God.  Where  is  the 
teacher  whose  words  work  such  a  transformation,  make 
fishermen  apostles,  change  the  persecutor  into  the  herald 
of  the  cross,  burn  into  the  hearts  of  thousands  with  such 
intensity  that  the  martyr's  flames  are  unheeded  ;  that  in 
some  obscure  dwelling  sink  deep  in  the  soul  of  its  humble 
occupant  long  centuries  after  they  were  uttered,  and 
make  men  of  feeble,  unlettered  simplicity  like  the  im- 
prisoned Madiai,  calmly  defiant  of  tyrannic  power,  might- 
ier in  the  strength  of  their  disci pleship  to  Jesus,  than  all 
the  terrors  of  sovereign  and  intolerant  authority  ? 

Wonderful  Teacher !  No  man  ever  spake  like  this 
man.  The  person,  the  utterance,  the  manner,  the  circum- 
stances, are  all  pa.ssed  away.  The  eloquence  of  the  occa- 
sion has  fled.  We  may  indeed  conceive  the  charm  of 
that  personal  presence — his  finger  points  to  the  lily  while 
he  declares  that  Solomon  was  never  arrayed  like  it. 
The  sower  was  on  the  hillside  before  Him  when  he  made 
his  seed  to  typify  the  word  of  God.  He  sat  by  Jacob's 
weir  when  he  spoke  of  the  living  water.  All  this  has 
passed  away,  but  the  eloquence  of  truth  remains.  Through 
the  middle  ages  Aristotle  had  his  commentators  and  in- 
terpreters in  the  schools  and  universities  of  Europe.  His 


"  THE  WONDERFUL." 


'55 


name  now  has  lost  its  power  ;  but  millions  are  listening 
to-day  to  hundreds  and  thousands  that  speak  in  the  Sa- 
viour's name,  $nd  reiterate  his  lessons.  And  the  time 
will  come,  it  is  coming  now,  when  on  continents  and 
islands,  on  every  shore  and  in  every  clime,  Christ's  truth 
shall  spread,  and  he  become  the  Teacher  of  a  renovated 
world  ;  a  ransomed  race  shall  be  his  disciples. 

But  He  is  "the  Wonderful,"  for  the  ends  that  He 
seeks  to  accomplish.  What  these  are,  as  they  reach  be- 
yond time  and  interweave  themselves  with  the  interests 
of  God's  universal  government,  it  is  not  for  us  to  declare. 
But  we  may  speak  of  what  is  now  revealed,  the  mystery 
of  godliness,  "  God  manifest  in  flesh."  The  Gospel  is  a 
wonder,  its  author  is  the  Wonderful.  He  sought  no 
selfish  aim.  The  world  has  seen  ambition  and  grasping 
avarice  and  self-seeking  intellect  elsewhere  ;  for  a  won- 
der, it  saw  in  Him  of  these  no  trace.  His  object  was 
one  that  lofty  minds  may  have  dreamed  of,  but  it  towered 
above  all  they  could  hope  to  realize,  like  the  Alps  above 
molehills.  He  fixed  His  purpose  on  the  renovation  of 
the  human  heart  and  race,  the  re-building  of  its  ruins,  its 
redemption  from  sin's  thraldom,  its  translation  to  an 
angel's  sphere.  And  if  the  steps  that  He  took  to  this 
end  were  arduous,  they  were  firm  and  wise  ;  they  were 
fact,  not  fancy  ;  they  were  cut  in  the  granite,  and  a  race 
might  mount  by  them.  Let  a  man  look  at  that  end 
which  the  Saviour  had  in  view,  for  which  He  laid  aside 
His  glory,  for  which  He  took  our  nature,  for  which  He 
taught,  suffered  and  died,  for  which  He  chose  His  dis- 
ciples and  sent  them  abroad  with  His  great  commission, 
and  he  will  call  that  mind  "wonderful"  which  originated 
the  vast  and  glorious  plan  ;  how  much  more  when  it 
solved  the  problem  of  devising  means  for  its  accomplish- 


156  LIFE  LESSONS. 

ment,  when  it  called  into  being  the  mechanism  and  mo- 
tives, arid  opened  the  way  by  which  it  might  be  secured 
— -when  life  is  sacrificed  and  death  with  ignominy  and 
torture  are  welcomed  to  secure  its  accomplishment.  An- 
gels may  wonder,  but  we  will  adore. 
We  can  join  with  the  poet : 

"  And  who  is  great  ? 

Alas !  the  teeming  earth  has  seen  but  one. 
The  lowly  Bethlehem  shadowed  his  infant  brow,  the 

manger  there 

Pillowed  his  infant  head.     Yet  who  like  him 
Has  come  from  palaces  and  walked  the  land 
AVith  such  a  crown  upon  his  golden  hair  ? 
Is  greatness  from  the  glory  of  our  sires 
Or  the  emblazoned  page  of  heraldry  ? 
His  Father  was  the  God  of  all  the  earth — 
His  generation  from  eternity. 
Is  it  from  life,  or  life's  great  deeds,  that  stir 
The  heart  to  admiration,  prayers,  and  tears? 
His  was  a  life  devoted  to  the  world — 
A  life  that  battled  with  eternal  death. 
Is  it  from  glory  ?     His  was  that  of  good — 
Not  marshalled  by  the  clarion  and  the  trump, 
But  by  the  silent  gratitude  of  earth. 
Is  it  from  eloquence  ?    His  wondrous  lips 
Stirred  the  great  elements,  and  mount  and  sea 
Trembled  before  his  words,  and  wind  and  storm 
Sank  at  that  magic  utterance — Be  still. 
He  spake,  and  thrones  before  his  startling  voice 
And  kings  that  filled  them  in  their  robes  and  crowns, 
Shook  like  an  aspen  in  the  coming  storm. 
Is  it  from  power  ?     His  sceptre  was  o'er  all, 
And  the  wide  world  bowed  to  his  lifted  hand. 
Is  it  from  lofty  love — that  love  for  man 
That  dares  the  tempest  of  a  maddened  earth, 
The  malediction  of  the  human  heart 


"THE  WONDEEFUL."  157 

For  which  it  bows  it  to  the  sepulchre  ? 

His  was  the  great  philanthropy  of  God. 

Alone  He  trod  the  winepress,  and  alone 

In  red  Gethsemane  he  bowed  and  bled 

Great  drops  of  agony,  and  cleansed  the  world." 

It  is  easy  now  to  discern  why  the  Saviour  is  called 
"the  Wonderful/7  or  rather  why  He  is  "the  Wonderful." 

It  was  for  a  wonderful  end — the  salvation  of  undone 
and  ruined  men.  When  we  look  at  this  we  find  every- 
thing full  of  wonders.  The  soul  of  man  is  a  wonderful 
thing.  It  has  wonderful  capacities,  a  wonderful  lot  on 
earth,  a  wonderful  destiny  hereafter.  Its  estrangement 
from  God  is  wonderful,  its  degradation  and  sin  are  won- 
derful, but  its  restoration  is  a  still  greater  wonder — it  is 
a  miracle  of  grace.  It  needed  a  wonderful  mind  to  con- 
trive it,  a  wonderful  power  to  execute  it,  and  the  history 
of  the  results  that  follow  it,  is  a  history  of  wonders. 
The  redeemed  soul  exclaims  with  Wesley  : 

"  See  a  bush  that  burns  with  fire, 
Unconsumed  amid  the  flame, 
Turn  aside  the  sight  admire, 
I  that  living  wonder  am." 

It  was  to  rescue  us,  to  work  in  us  a  wonderful  trans- 
formation, that  this  wonderful  Jesus-Saviour  appeared. 
It  was  to  ransom  the  captive,  to  give  sight  to  the  blind, 
to  make  the  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins  live,  to  make 
this  worm  of  the  earth,  covered  with  the  slime  of  sin,  a 
white-robed  angel — to  bring  the  lost  wanderer  back  to 
his  Father's  house.  We  needed  one,  wonderful  to  save — 
combining  almost  conflicting  elements  in  harmony — our 
King  and  our  Brother,  our  friend  and  our  judge — human 


158 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


and  yet  divine — sinless,  yet  compassionate  to  the  guilty- 
authorised  to  forgive,  yet  purchasing  our  pardon  with 
his  blood.  We  needed  One  to  whom  kings  should  bow, 
and  who  yet  would  hear  and  receive  the  beggar — One 
infinite  in  perfection,  yet  a  perfection  transcribed  upon  a 
human  life  that  we  might  imitate — One  who  could  suffer 
like  us  and  be  tried  like  us,  but  whose  flowing  blood 
could  cleanse  a  world.  Such  a  One — "the  Wonderful77 — 
has  been  provided.  To  the  strange  depth  of  our  guilt 
and  woe,  a  strange  arm  has  reached  a  strange  deliver- 
ance. 

Consider  again  what  our  feelings  should  be  to  this 
wonderful  Saviour.  They  should  be  those  of  wonderful 
love.  It  is  for  us  that  His  life  was  wonderful,  His  teach- 
ings wonderful,  His  death  wonderful.  For  us  he  com- 
bined all  those  strange  titles  and  offices  in  himself.  For 
us  he  led  that  strange  career  of  self-denying  benevolence, 
humility  and  reproach.  For  us  he  spake  as  never  man 
spake.  For  us  He  laid  down  his  life  amid  the  torture 
and  shame  of  the  cross.  What  ought  our  feelings  to  be 
toward  Him — our  Friend,  Redeemer,  Brother,  Saviour  ? 
What  gratitude,  devotion,  attachment  should  we  exhibit ! 
And  what  sort  of  a  remembrance  should  that  be  of  Him, 
which  we  cherish,  when  assembled  at  His  table,  and 
handling  the  emblems  of  His  broken  body ! 

"He  that  loveth  me  will  keep  my  commandments,"  said 
Christ.  "  He  will,  he  does,"  should  be  the  echo  of  every 
Christian  heart  —  the  history  of  every  Christian  life. 
Wonderful  Jesus,  we  will  obey  Thee. 

"  Remember  thee — thy  death,  thy  shame 

Our  sinful  hearts  to  share — 
0  memory  leave  no  other  name 
But  His  recorded  there." 


"THE  WONDERFUL."  159 

Reflect,  also,  how  wonderful  and  entire  should  be  our 
faith  and  trust  in  this  wonderful  Saviour.  He  is  worthy 
of  it  in  all  its  fulness.  Think  of  what  all  these  titles 
mean,  and  what  they  make  Him,  as  an  object  of  confi- 
dence. He  is  "  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost."  He  can 
fulfil  all  our  hope.  Think  of  his  truth  and  fidelity.  He 
will  not  falsify  that  wonderful  promise  worthy  of  its 
wonderful  author — "  Whosoever  cometh  unto  me  I  will 
in  no  wise  cast  out."  Think  of  the  wisdom  of  His  teach- 
ings— the  sagacity  of  Omniscience — that  can  lead  the 
lost  wanderer  home.  Where  is  there  such  a  guide  ? 
Think  of  His  power — no  one  can  pluck  us  out  of  His 
hand.  Think  of  that  love  that  pillowed  on  its  bosom  the 
beloved  disciple,  that  wept  with  the  weepers  at  Lazarus7 
grave,  that  met  the  abandoned  outcasts  with  a  mingled 
truth  and  kindness  that  broke  their  hearts.  Will  you 
not  lean  in  humble  and  implicit  trust  on  the  Saviour's 
arm  ?  Will  you  not  commit  your  soul  into  the  Saviours 
hands  ?  Will  you  not  forego  every  vain  reliance  on  your- 
self, and  rest  your  hope  in  the  Saviour's  blood  ? 

Consider,  too,  how  wonderful  must  be  the  condemnation 
of  those  who  refuse  such  a  wonderful  Saviour !  Now  you 
have  presented  to  your  view  a  great  and  wonderful  Re- 
deemer. He  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  that 
come  to  God  by  Him.  Spurn  His  offer,  let  it  alone  till 
death  withdraws  it  forever,  and  what  becomes  of  you? 
The  condemnation  of  the  cities  of  the  plain  was  wonder- 
ful, but  they  will  rise  up  in  judgment  to  condemn  you. 

And,  finally,  ask  what  that  world  must  be  where  He 
that  is  "  the  Wonderful/7  shall  be  fully  revealed  to  our 
perfect  vision.  That  will  be  glorious  and  wonderful 
indeed.  There  we  shall  "  behold  Him,  whom  not  having 
seen  we  love,  and  in  whom  believing,  we  rejoice  with  joy 


160  LIFE  LESSONS 

unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.  The  wonders  of  His 
being  will  be  there  unfolded,  and  to  our  adoring  gaze 
they  will  appear  more  wondrous  still.  We  shall  appre- 
ciate the  meaning  of  that  name  as  we  cannot  now. 

A  wonderful  scene  indeed  transpires  when,  unseen  by 
the  outward  eye,  the  King  of  kings  comes  down  to  feed 
the  famished  soul  with  the  bread  of  life.  Pardoned 
rebels  gather  to  the  table  to  meet  the  smile,  and  cherish 
the  memory  of  their  dying,  risen  Lord.  Hopes  full  of 
immortality  cluster  around  the  sacred  emblems  of  His 
broken  body.  But  there  is  another  scene  to  come,  of 
which  this  is  but  a  feeble  type.  From  the  east  and  the  west, 
from  the  north  and  the  south,  shall  come  the  thronging 
myriads  of  ransomed  spirits,  to  sit  down  with  Abraham, 
and  Isaac,  and  Jacob  in  the  kingdom  of  God.  And 
"the  Wonderful"  will  be  there,  the  Redeemer  with* His 
redeemed,  and  at  that  table  of  infinite  love  and  perfect 
holiness,  Eternity  itself  will  be  the  feast-day  of  the  soul. 
Every  want  will  be  met,  every  desire  satisfied.  Even 
now  the  Saviour  Himself  is  giving  out  His  invitation  to 
meet  Him  there.  Will  you  not  accept  it  ? 


XIX. 

THE  CHRISTIAN   LIFE— WHAT  IT  IMPLIES. 

"Be  ye  therefore  perfect." — MATT.  v.  48. 

IT  is  an  old  saying,  too  little  regarded  by  many,  that 
we  have  but  one  life  to  live.  It  is  common  sense,  it 
is  wisdom,  it  is  religion,  therefore,  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
To  accomplish  this  is  the  true  philosophy  of  life. 

What  rule,  standard,  model,  then,  shall  we  adopt ;  for 
there  is  an  infinite  variety.  You  turn  with  disgust  and 
loathing  from  the  type  of  life  set  before  you  in  the 
drunkard,  the  glutton,  and  the  sensualist.  You  do  not 
want  a  trough  for  a  table,  a  sty  for  a  dwelling,  or  a  gutter 
for  a  bed.  And  yet,  perhaps,  you  are  lured  by  feasts, 
pageants,  Brussels  carpets  and  four-story  palaces.  You 
have  a  taste  for  flutter  and  fashion.  You  adore  ease  and 
comfort. 

But  is  there  not  something  better  than  all  this  ?  Which 
would  read  best  on  a  grave-stone,  a  rich  merchant,  a 
smart  lawyer,  a  greedy  pleasure  seeker,  or  an  earnest 
and  devoted  Christian?  Who  commands  the  most  re- 
spect, even  from  a  godless  world,  the  man  that  prays,  or 
the  -man  that  jests  ?  And  which  is  the  greatest  and  no- 
blest achievement,  to  train  the  soul  for  heaven  and  enrich 
it  with  memories  of  goodness  and  self-denial ;  or  to  eat, 
drink,  sleep,  and  drift  with  the  fashions  ? 

I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  with  the  poet,  "A  Chris- 

(1G1) 


162  LIFE  LESSONS. 

tian  is  the  highest  style  of  man."  Plaster  the  body  with 
tinsel ;  teach  it  genteel  manners ;  store  the  mind  with 
learning ;  educate  it  to  exquisite  taste ;  make  a  man  upright 
and  moral,  a  true  friend  and  kind  neighbor,  and  you  yet 
fall  vastly  short  of  the  Christian  standard.  You  have 
fashion's  idol,  but  the  soul  of  piety  is  not  in  it.  You  may 
have  the  golden  candlestick  but  no  light ;  the  frame,  but 
not  the  picture. 

It  is  well  to  be  moral  and  upright,  but  principle  with- 
out religion  has  simply  the  force  of  education  and  habit. 
These  plant  it  like  a  cedar  post  in  the  earth,  but  re- 
ligion makes  it  live  and  grow,  and  turns  it  into  a  cedar 
of  Lebanon.  There  can  be  no  solidity  of  character,  it  is 
true,  without  morality.  A  man  becomes  like  a  tree  with 
a  hollow  trunk,  fair  without,  but  ants,  squirrels,  and  rot- 
ten wood  inside,  and  reeling  till  it  falls  prostrate  beneath 
the  tornado.  And  yet  moral  principle  is  to  Christian 
faith  only  as  the  dry  channel  of  an  aqueduct  to  the  living 
fountain  that  can  fill  it  and  supply  the  thirst  of  thousands. 
Aspiring  merely  to  morality,  I  level  the  arrow  of  effort 
at  a  height  like  that  of  the  "  Crow's  Nest,"  but  concen- 
trating my  energies  on  a  life  like  Christ's,  I  lay  my  hand 
on  a  crown  of  hope  beyond  the  stars. 

Piety  implies  morality,  and  morality  of  the  highest 
standard.  Without  this,  it  is  but  like  a  body  bled  to 
death,  or  a  frame  with  the  bones  expunged.  But  a 
Christian  life  requires  not  only  fair  morals,  but  a  re- 
newed heart ;  not  only  just  dealings  with  men,  but  truth 
and  duty  to  the  God  of  truth  ;  not  only  integrity  and 
justice,  but  charity,  humility,  and  holy  consecration. 
Morality  says,  "  do  no  man  any  wrong."  Religion  says, 
"  do  all  men  good."  Morality  says,  "  keep  off  the  stains 
of  vice,"  Religion  says,  "  put  on  the  robes,  not  of  virtue 


THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  163 

only,  but  of  angelic  holiness."  Morality  bids,  "  pay  your 
debts  to  your  neighbor."  Religion  urges,  "  accept  as  a 
bankrupt  sinner  the  free  grace  of  God  in  Christ,  and  live 
as  one  bought  with  a  price,  no  longer  your  own." 

We  feel  that  it  would  be  a  great  thing  to  bring  the 
mass  of  men  up  to  even  the  lower  standard.  They  suffer 
themselves  to  be  governed  by  their  pleasures  and  their 
tastes,  till  a  slave-driver's  whip  and  chains  could  not  im- 
pose a  more  hopeless  bondage.  They  have  no  higher 
aim  in  life  than  just  self-gratification.  They  can  hate, 
envy,  cheat,  deceive,  offend,  riot,  carouse,  all  within  the 
limits  of  a  morality  that  keeps  their  names  out  of  the 
newspapers,  and  their  persons  from  the  police  courts.  They 
drift  through  life  with  no  more  moral  pilotage  than  what 
is  necessary  to  keep  clear  of  the  rapids  of  vice  or  the 
snags  of  the  law. 

Some,  again,  belong  to  that  class  whom  Cowper  de- 
scribes, "  whose  ambition  is  to  sink."  All  that  consti- 
tutes the  dignity  of  the  human  soul — reflection,  conscien- 
tiousness, soberness  of  purpose, — is  thrust  aside  to  give 
place  to  recklessness,  frivolity,  amusement.  The  soul  is 
disfigured,  like  an  Indian  tattooed  for  his  war-dance. 
To  say  a  funny  thing,  however  stupidly  foolish,  to  master 
the  legerdemain  of  fashion,  to  win  some  frivolous  game, 
to  gain  admission  to  some  gay  circle,  this  is  the  height 
of  their  aspirations.  It  seems  as  if  the  instincts  of  but- 
terflies and  peacocks  had  been  lodged  by  mistake  in 
human  bodies,  or  as  if  the  owners  of  soul  were  ashamed 
of  their  property,  and  panted  to  supplant  the  image  of 
God  by  some  gross  caricature. 

To  bring  such  persons  up  to  a  decent  moral  standard, 
would  be  carrying  them — not  above  the  tops  of  the  Alps 
or  the  Andes,  it  is  true,  but  it  would  be  lifting-  them — out 


164  LIFE  LESSONS. 

of  mines  and  caves  to  the  light  of  day,  out  of  quagmires 
to  the  solid  ground.  A  strictly  moral  man  ought  to  be 
sober  enough  to  see  that  there  is  something  serious  in 
life,  that  it  means  more  than  an  empty  pageant  or  a  reel- 
ing dance.  He  ought  to  be  prepared  to  say,  "  this  valley 
of  existence"  bounded  by  the  mountain  ranges  of  an  eter- 
nity past  and  an  eternity  to  come,  with  only  the  gates  of 
death  and  the  bar  of  judgment  for  its  outlet,  is  not  the 
place  for  an  heir  of  immortality  to  doze  and  carouse,  jest 
and  banter.  The  great  heavens  over  us  stretch  them- 
selves out  to  an  immensity  which  they  beckon  the  am- 
plitudes of  our  expanding  thoughts  to  fill.  This  soul 
itself,  the  wonder  of  creation's  wonders,  within  whose  im- 
palpable grasp  whole  centuries  are  gathered  up,  and 
millions  of  memories  are  stored,  which  by  a  path  which 
no  fowl  knoweth,  and  which  the  vulture's  eye  hath  not 
seen,  travels  back  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen,  from  na- 
ture to  God,  which  soars  aloft  till  poised  on  the  brink  of 
its  own  doom,  it  speculates  on  eternal  ages  when  every 
earthly  memorial  of  itself  has  vanished — this  soul,  capa- 
ble of  knowing  God,  and  filling  an  angel's  sphere,  is  too 
great  and  glorious  a  thing  to  be  kicked  about  as  the  foot- 
ball of  fashion,  too  capacious  to  be  measured  by  the 
jester's  standard." 

But  Christianity  is  not  content  with  this.  It  demands 
more.  Its  aim  is  loftier,  more  comprehensive.  It  de- 
mands, to  attain  its  objects,  the  enlistment  of  all  the  powers 
of  the  soul.  For  some  men,  to  attain  a  fortune,  may  be 
a  high  aspiration  ;  for  others,  the  fame  of  successful  gen- 
eralship ;  for  others  still,  a  reputable  character  ;  but  he 
who  aims  just  to  live  a  truly  Christian  life,  aspires  to  a 
higher  and  more  arduous  as  well  as  a  holier  attainment. 

Such  a  life  implies  the  subordination  of  all  selfish  pas- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  165 

sions  and  lusts  to  the  divine  will.  This  is  the  true  mas- 
tery. A  man  does  not  own  himself  till  God  owns  him, 
and  that  ownership  is  solemnly  acknowledged.  He  is  a 
slave  to  his  baser  nature,  even  though  his  chains  are  in- 
viting as  diamond  rings  and  bracelets  of  gold.  While  a 
passion  against  which  reason  revolts  domineers  over  him 
— while  a  lust  which  conscience  rebukes  scoffs  at  con- 
science, he  is  a  bond-slave  of  satan.  He  is  ruled  by  a 
tyrant  as  vile  and  base  as  his  own  deformity.  To  over- 
come this  tyrant,  it  is  not  enough  to  make  a  declaration 
of  independence.  A  more  than  "  seven  years'  war"  must 
follow  it,  a  life-long  struggle  to  establish  the  ascendancy 
of  virtue  and  the  law  of  God.  He  who  maintains  it  to 
the  end,  who  "  falls  but  fights  anew" — till  even  death 
becomes  his  standard-bearer  and  waves  over  his  pros- 
trate dust  the  flag  of  triumph — he  is  the  true  hero.  "  He 
that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city."  The  man  who  turns  his  own  soul  into  a  battle- 
field for  God.  resolved  never  to  shrink  or  flee  till  the 
victory  is  won,  is  braver  than  the  veteran  of  a  hundred 
fights.  How  easy  to  love  those  that  love  you!  How 
hard  to  turn  your  other  cheek  to  the  smiter !  How  easy 
to  glow  with  indignation  at  even  imagined  wrong  !  How 
hard,  but  how  noble  to  forgive  as  you  would  be  forgiven 
yourself!  A  Hannibal  in  boyhood  vows  upon  the  altar 
eternal  hostility  to  the  Roman  people.  Jesus  on  the  cross 
prays  for  his  murderers,  "Father,  forgive  them."  All 
ambitions  are  mean  and  contemptible  by  the  side  of  that 
which  would  enthrone  the  purity,  meekness,  humility  and 
charity  of  the  Gospel  within  the  soul. 

A  Christian  life  implies,  moreover,  a  humbling  accep- 
tance of  Christ's  Redemption  as  the  only  ground  of  hope 
for  the  sinner.  It  costs  something  for  proud  human  na- 


166  LIFE  LESSONS. 

ture  to  stoop  to  this.  It  costs  something  to  strip  off  the 
robe  of  pride,  of  trust  in  our  own  fancied  goodness,  and 
falling  prostrate  in  the  dust  confess  that  in  ourselves  we 
have  nothing  to  avert  the  descending  stroke  of  divine 
justice,  and  that  as  helpless  suppliants,  as  guilty  wretches, 
all  our  appeal  must  be  simply  to  sovereign  mercy.  Yet 
this  a  Christian  life  requires,  and  the  man  who  stoops  to 
this,  humbles  himself  only  to  be  exalted.  He  is  not  only 
pardoned,  but  he  is  delivered  from  his  own  pride.  He 
has  the  greatness  of  one  who  forms  a  low  estimate  of 
himself.  '  He  has  attained  to  this — to  see  his  own  heart 
as  it  appears  before  God — to  know  the  weakness  and 
depravity  of  his  fallen  nature.  It  is  a  knowledge  beyond 
any  that  is  taught  in  the  schools — beyond  the  knowledge 
of  the  student,  or  the  artist,  or  the  historian,  or  the  phi- 
losopher— it  is  the  knowledge  of  his  need,  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  Redeemer. 

A  Christian  life  implies,  again,  a  consecration  to  a  holy 
service,  to  the  work  of  God.  In  whatever  it  is  engaged, 
it  serves  him.  To  stand  by  the  anvil,  to  follow  the 
plough,  to  serve  at  the  counter,  to  sweep  the  streets,  be- 
comes a  hallowed  employment,  for  it  is  cheerfully  per- 
formed at  the  mandate  of  duty  ;  it  is  done  to  glorify  him 
by  whom  it  is  imposed.  It  is  done  because  it  is  due — 
because  he  that  does  it  confesses  that  he  is  not  his  own, 
but  the  creature  of  God,  the  redeemed  of  grace,  a  pen- 
sioner on  the  divine  beneficence,  and  so  with  holy  aims, 
he  strives  to  put  God's  will  in  all  things  in  place  of  his 
own,  turning  life  into  a  prayer,  and  making  each  daily 
blessing  a  note  in  the  sweet  music  of  adoration,  each 
hardship  a  step  by  which  he  climbs  up  toward  God. 

A  Christian  life  is  one  that  necessarily  seeks  to  do  good. 
And  herein  it  finds  a  field  for  glorious  achievement.  Not 


THE  CHRIH  TIAN  LIFE.  1 67 

in  days  like  these  may  any  one  speak  in  scorn  of  the  blood- 
stained banner  that  waves  over  the  soldier  of  freedom 
arid  native  land,  but  the  expansive  aims  of  a  true  philan- 
thropy reach  abroad  to  take  the  whole  world  in  the 
embrace  of  their  sympathies.  One  cannot  love  God  with- 
out loving  his  brother  also,  and  when  you  look  on  the 
humblest  hero  of  charity,  out  of  love  to  God  seeking  to 
teach  the  ignorant  or  uplift  the  degraded,  what  a  shriv- 
elled and  contemptible  caricature  of  greatness  is  the 
richest  miser,  the  greatest  warrior,  the  most  surprising 
genius,  a  Croesus,  a  Pharaoh,  a  Caesar,  by  his  side. 

A  Christian  life  is  the  only  one  worth  living  on  earth. 
Any  other  soon  foams  away  to  dregs — and  such  dregs ! 
what  they  are,  let  a  Dives,  a  Chesterfield,  a  Byron  tell ! 
Back  of  all  the  show  and  pageant,  behind  the  close-drawn 
curtain,  there  are  just  "  the  tawdry  ornaments,  the  tallow 
candles,  the  wires  and  pulleys,"  which  the  English  noble- 
man described.  A  bubble's  life  is  dignity  to  this.  An 
actor's  part  is  sincerity  to  this.  To  be  true,  earnest, 
effective — to  make  existence  here  anything  else  than 
tragedy  or  mockery,  rubbish  or  crime,  we  must  adopt  the 
Christian's  standard. 


XX. 

THE  FIRST  AIM  OF  LIFE. 

"  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness." — MATT.  vi.  33. 

SOME  of  the  gravest  mistakes  of  human  life  grow  out 
of  one  fundamental  error — putting  first  something 
that  should  be  put  second,  or  putting  second  what  should 
be  first.  There  can  properly  be  only  one  thing  put  first, 
and  that  is,  religion — the  fear  of  God.  It  is  the  founda- 
tion of  character,  and  effort,  and  happiness.  Nothing 
else  will  endure  and  sustain  the  superstructure  of  a  true 
life. 

Few,  perhaps,  will  dispute  this  in  words,  but  they  do 
in  deeds.  They  seem  to  me  like  one  who  in  the  winter 
time,  when  he  proposes  to  build  himself  a  magnificent 
palace,  goes,  not  to  the  granite  quarry,  but,  to  the  moun- 
tain glacier,  and  hews  out,  perhaps,  enormous  blocks  of 
beautiful  ice,  and  lays  them  deep  and  firm  as  a  founda- 
tion. On  this,  he  piles  all  his  life-wrought  materials, 
and  within  the  structure  he  places  all  his  treasures. 
Every  thing  he  has,  and  his  life  itself,  are  staked  on  the 
durability  of  the  ice  blocks.  For  months  there  is,  per- 
haps, no  sign  of  yielding,  but,  at  last,  it  may  be  suddenly, 
the  whole  structure  sinks  into  a  mass  of  rubbish. 

Is  this  fancy  ?  Is  it  not  rather  parable  coined  out  of 
fact  ?  What  is  the  foundation  on  which  thousands  build  ? 

(168) 


THE  FI118T  AIM  OF  LIFE.  169 

What  lies  at  the  base  of  all  their  schemes  and  efforts  ? 
Are  they  not  building  on  to-morrow's  uncertainty,  on 
some  dream  of  success,  on  some  fond  imagination,  ice- 
blocks  all,  that  will  melt  under  the  heat  of  trial,  and 
leave  all  that  rests  on  them  to  sink  to  ruin  ? 

No  one  can  build,  no  one  has  a  right  to  build,  till  he 
can  build  on  the  Rock  of  Ages.  We  are  all  building, 
whether  we  know  it  or  not,  for  eternity.  We  may  put 
up  wigwams  or  hospitals,  tents  or  temples,  but  our  aims 
and  deeds,  whatever  they  are,  are  the  soul's  palace,  under 
the  shelter  or  shadow  of  which  it  will  dwell  forever.  The 
question  with  what  we  build  is  a  grave  one,  but  the  ques- 
tion on  what  we  build  comes  first.  It  matters  little 
whether  I  use  hay,  wood  and  stubble,  or  marble  and 
granite,  if  in  either  case  they  rest  on  quicksand.  A  great 
genius  with  splendid  attainments  makes  a  more  imposing 
ruin,  but  a  ruin  nevertheless.  He  seems  to  me,  without 
religion,  like  a  magnificent  arch  supported  on  a  wooden 
frame,  with  the  keystone  left  out.  It  may  stand  for 
years,  but  its  fate  is  just  as  sure  as  that  of  the  props  that 
support  it. 

Your  first  great  duty  is  to  shape  your  life  to  the  great 
end  for  which  it  was  given.  Let  religion  draw  the  out- 
line and  then  fill  it  up  wisely  and  well.  See  that  its 
scope  is  right.  You  may  journey  at  railroad  speed,  but 
if  you  go  the  wrong  way,  there  is  no  progress.  You 
may  toil  long  and  hard,  but  if  you  weary  yourself  with 
vanity,  it  will  amount  to  nothing.  A  life  made  up  of 
rambling  and  zigzag  will  do  very  well  if  it  ends  where  it 
began.  One  who  spends  his  life  in  gazing  at  rockets 
will  see  little  of  stars  and  sun.  Thousands  live  extem- 
pore, watching  for  the  next  meteor  of  politics,  gain  or 
fashion.  Their  future,  so  far  as  they  note  it,  is  just  a 
8 


170  LIFE  LESSONS. 

mirage  of  fancy,  all  this  side  the  grave.  They  never  ask, 
why  am  I  here,  what  is  my  proper  business,  what  is  the 
great  end  I  should  ever  keep  in  view  ?  They  ramble  on 
with  little  thought  of  where  their  last  yesterday  will 
leave  them.  Life  has  no  more  shape  to  it  than  the  gravi- 
tation of  indolence,  taste  or  circumstance  gives  it. 

Or,  if  there  is  a  plan,  how  often  is  it  a  false  one !  It 
would  make  a  meteor  of  what  should  be  a  star.  It  would 
debase  an  heir  of  heaven  to  a  millionaire,  a  tidewaiter, 
or  a  fop.  It  would  draw  off  talent  and  probation  and 
even  the  river,  "  the  streams  whereof  make  glad  the  city 
of  God,"  into  currents  to  turn  the  machinery  that  saws 
logs  and  weaves  cotton.  It  would  put  the  Bible  under 
foot  that  it  may  stand  on  it  and  so  reach  higher  to  grasp 
the  prize  which  the  Bible  forbids  to  seek.  It  would  sub- 
stitute gold  for  grace,  and  gain  for  godliness.  It  would 
fill  God's  temple  with  money-changers.  It  would  sacri- 
fice the  soul's  everlasting  birthright  to  pamper  the  lust 
of  the  flesh,  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life. 

This  is  a  "  Comedy  of  Errors  "  beyond  any  that  the 
genius  of  the  great  dramatist  ever  invented  ;  comedy  that 
runs  into  deepest  tragedy,  that  begins  with  a  jest  and 
ends  with  a  sigh,  that  lulls  to  heedlessness  and  wakes  to 
remorse. 

All  this  would  not  be  of  so  much  account  if  you  could 
satisfy  yourself  that  there  was  no  God  to  judge  you,  no 
future  existence  for  the  soul,  no  high  and  glorious  destiny 
to  which  God  invites  it,  no  capability  by  God's  grace  of 
turning  this  life  into  an  introduction  to  the  everlasting 
blessedness  of  heaven.  But  if  any  one  to  gratify  you 
should  attempt  to  prove  this,  with  what  horror  would 
you  regard  him !  You  would  feel  that  his  argument  was 
atheism  and  his  logic  despair.  With  a  shudder  you 


THE  FIRST  AIM  OF  LIFE. 


171 


would  say,  "  to  corruption  thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the 
worm  thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister." 

Ah !  it  is  not  in  man  calmly  and  complacently  to  look 
upon  such  a  doom.  The  soul  shrinks  from  it  as  the  flesh 
does  from  torture.  We  feel  that  we  were  made  for 
something  better.  The  instincts  of  our  being  crave  im- 
mortality. There  are  moments  when  the  bounds  of  time 
seem  to  us  like  the  shell  of  the  bird  ere  it  spreads  its 
wings.  We  can  rise  heavenward.  The  stars  seem  but 
the  milestones  of  everlasting  progress.  The  soul  aspires 
to  freedom  from  its  fleshly  chain.  This  life  is  the  child- 
hood of  being,  this  world  the  perch  whence  we  are  to 
soar  away. 

Shall  man  then,  when  the  light  of  revelation  confirms 
all  this  and  more,  be  content  with  a  meaner  ambition 
than  the  heathen  artist  who  said,  "  I  paint  for  eternity  ?" 
Shall  you,  a  child  of  God,  be  content  with  the  heritage 
of  a  slave?  Will  you,  with  lips  that  can  lisp  "Our 
Father/'  pawn  your  birthright  for  a  prodigal's  portion  ? 
Will  you,  who  may  be  even  now  a  king  and  priest  unto 
God,  kindle  the  fires  of  Baal  and  do  sacrifice  to  mam- 
mon ?  With  joys  even  now  offered,  sweeter  than  Eden's 
fragrance,  and  with  treasures  in  the  love  of  God  richer 
than  gems  and  gold  from  uncounted  mines,  will  you 
choose  rather  the  sands  of  the  world's  deserts,  and  its 
apples  of  Sodom  that  are  ashes  to  the  taste  ? 

The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 
Sixty  centuries  empannelled  on  the  jury  give  in  that  ver- 
dict. It  pronounces  him  <a  fool  who  presumes  to  live 
without  God  and  has  no  hope.  He  has  not  truly  began 
to  live  who  has  not  yet  met  the  claims  of  his  Maker.  He 
may  count  his  years  by  the  score  ;  his  success  by  honors  ; 
his  wealth  by  thousands ;  but  these  are  all  only  autumn 


172  LIFE  LESSONS. 

leaves,  without  one  living  bud  among  them  all,  if  the 
heart  is  still  given  up  to  the  world. 

Take  all  the  materials  which  time  and  earth  can  af- 
ford ;  exhaust  mine  and  prairie  ;  summon  enterprise  and 
energy  ;  call  in  genius,  and  taste,  and  talent,  and  learn- 
ing ;  blend  with  all  every  social  grace,  every  moral  vir- 
tue and  every  refinement  of  art,  and  out  of  all  these  build 
up  the  completest  human  life  that  your  resources  will  al- 
low, yet  without  the  grace  of  God  it  is  but  a  tower  of 
Babel.  There  are  the  walls  of  a  temple,  but  there  is  no 
God  within.  There  is  an  altar,  but  the  living  coals  are 
not  on  it.  There  is  a  priesthood,  but  it  is  rather  of 
Mammon's  hierarchy  than  of  Aaron's  lineage.  There  is 
the  majestic  organ,  but  unhallowed  fingers  cannot  sweep 
its  keys.  A  crowd  throngs  its  courts,  but  they  wait  on 
the  tables  of  the  money-changers.  Its  spire  may  point  to 
heaven,  but  the  sordid  dust  of  worldliness  tracks  all  its 
aisles,  and  the  cobwebs  of  vanity  are  hung  about  its  pil- 
lars. Many  a  splendid  career  is  only  the  mausoleum  of 
a  dead  soul. 

Now,  put  religion  at  the  foundation,  and  even  with 
commonplace  materials  build  on  that.  A  man  begins  to 
live  as  one  that  is  to  live  forevermore.  Fearing  God 
alone,  he  rises  above  all  human  fear  ;  knowing  he  is  to 
give  account,  he  tries  every  deed,  and  he  puts  into  the 
walls  of  life  nothing  that  will  not  stand  the  fires  of  the 
last  day.  Counting  himself  not  his  own,  he  is  grandly 
generous,  living  to  do  good,  and  not  to  please  himself. 
Capable  of  divine  joy,  he  scofns  the  silly  pleasures  that 
would  crowd  their  Dagon  idols  into  God's  temple.  He 
prays,  he  toils,  he  lives  for  God.  The  plan  of  his  life  is 
fixed,  clear,  definite,  and  like  a  tree — every  fibre  of  its 
roots  drawing  in  nourishment,  and  every  leaf  of  its 


THE  FIRST  AIM  OF  LIFE.  173 

branches  drinking  in  the  dew — it  shapes  everything  to 
its  own  pattern.  Light  and  darkness  ;  sunshine,  storm  ; 
plenty,  want ;  all  feel  the  transmuting  power  of  its  subtle 
chemistry,  and  yield  to  the  control  of  a  consecrated  pur- 
pose. Such  a  life  will  be  good  and  great.  You  may 
plant  it  in  the  lowliest  valley,  you  may  hide  it  where  few 
eyes  gaze,  but  it  will  bloom  with  an  Eden  beauty  ;  it  will 
overtop  worldly  surroundings,  as  a  cedar  of  Lebanon 
would  shrub-oaks,  and  the  very  children  that  gather  to 
sport  beneath  its  spreading  branches  will  bless  it  for  its 
green  leaves  and  its  cool  shade.  It  is  a  tree  fit  to  trans- 
plant to  the  Paradise  of  God. 

Such  a  life  will  be  an  evergreen.  The  frosts  that  strip 
the  forest  that  winter  may  howl  its  dirge  through  the 
leafless  branches,  cannot  harm  it.  It  will  bear  fruit  in 
old  age.  Its  end  will  be  peace,  and  the  blessing  of  those 
that  were  ready  to  perish  will  crown  its  memory. 

Begin  life  aright  then.  If  you  would  not  have  weeds 
for  your  harvest  or  bricks  for  your  toil,  give  God  your 
heart,  and  think  of  the  life  that  never  ends.  Put  your- 
self in  thought  far  away  beyond  these  shifting,  cheating 
scenes ;  soar  aloft  above  this  fire-doomed  earth,  and  its 
shows  and  pomps  ;  see  the  great  globe  with  all  its  cities 
and  palaces  shrinking  to  an  atom ;  leave  time  behind 
you  ;  take  your  place  among  the  angel  choir  that  sweep 
their  golden  harps  before  the  throne  ;  and  ask  yourself 
then  what  this  life  should  be,  fitting  for  an  angel's  child- 
hood, for  the  service  which  the  redeemed  shall  be  glad 
to  render  forevermore. 

If  that  sphere  is  ever  to  be  yours,  you  should  begin  to 
live  for  it  now.  You  should  be  robing  yourself  every 
day  for  that  great  Assembly  that  are  draped  in  the  spotless 
white  of  heaven's  purity.  You  should  put  off  sin  and  put 


174  LIPE  LESSONS. 

on  righteousness.  You  should  learn  the  lesson  of  prayer 
and  praise.  You  should  seek  to  know  Him  whom  to 
know  aright  is  life  eternal,  and  with  whom  you  hope  to 
dwell  forever.  You  should  allow  no  toys  of  sense  to  al- 
lure your  eye,  or  divert  your  purpose.  You  should  say, 
"  with  one  life  only  to  live  on  earth,  I  will  not  squander  it 
on  trifles  ;  I  will  not  turn  it  into  an  episode  of  folly  ;  I 
will  not  crowd  it  with  bitter  memories  of  sin  ;  I  will  not 
build  any  immortal  hope  on  shadows  ;  but  I  will  so  live 
that  my  farewell  of  earth  shall  be  my  welcome  to  heaven." 
Make  your  present  life  then  the  title  page  of  your  im- 
mortality. Let  there  be  no  word  or  letter  in  it  which 
shall  belie  the  contents  of  a  volume  that  shall  record  an 
angel's  career.  The  soul's  identity  demands,  if  you  as- 
pire to  heavenly  blessedness,  that  you  shall  not  burden 
memory  with  the  everlasting  incongruities  of  a  life  of  sin 
on  earth.  If  there  is  anything  which  in  the  light  of  the 
throne  you  would  not  like  to  recall,  shun  it  now.  If  there 
is  anything  which  can  fit  you  for  the  high  sphere  of  an- 
gelic service,  now  is  the  time  for  preparation.  If  exis- 
tence has  any  sphere  in  which  wisdom  can  be  called  into 
service,  in  which  your  highest  interests  demand  a  thought)- 
ful  anticipation  of  future  destiny,  that  sphere  is  the  one 
in  which  you  are  moving  now.  In  view  of  a  final  judg- 
ment, by  the  light  of  a  blazing  world,  under  the  eye  of 
the  great  Judge,  face  to  face  with  eternity,  the  soul  must 
yet  sit  in  judgment  on  itself.  Why  not  act  to-day  with 
reference  to  what  you  know  will  be  its  final  sentence  ? 


XXL 

THE     CONFLICT    OP    LIFE. 

"  Fight  the  good  fight  of  faith."—!  TIM.  vi.  12. 

WHO  that  has  ever  witnessed  the  volunteer  soldier 
going  forth  to  take  his  place  in  the  ranks  in  de- 
fense of  his  country,  has  not  felt  his  sympathies  strongly 
enlisted  in  his  behalf?  There  was  so  much  to  touch  the 
heart — his  youth,  his  inexperience,  the  fearful  scenes  be- 
fore him,  the  fearful  perils  he  must  encounter,  the  possi- 
ble fate  that  may  in  a  moment  quench  all  his  young, 
bright  hopes,  the  exposure  and  the  vices  and  diseases  of 
campaign  life,  the  sad,  perhaps  final  farewell  of  parents, 
of  brothers,  or  sisters,  or  weeping  friends,  the  grandeur 
of  the  cause  in  which  he  is  engaged,  the  solemn  pledge 
which  he  may  be  called  to  lay,  embalmed  in  his  heart's 
blood,  on  the  altar  of  his  country — all  conspire  to  make 
him  an  object  of  no  common  interest. 

And  yet,  more  sublime,  more  impressive,  more  affecting 
than  this,  is  the  sight  of  an  immortal  spirit,  entering  amid 
the  perils  of  a  sinful  world  upon  the  great  conflict  of  life, 
from  which  he  is  to  come  forth  crushed  or  triumphant, 
the  coward  of  guilt,  or  the  hero  of  God.  And  this  con- 
flict is  before  us  all.  We  must  share  in  it,  not  as  mere 
spectators,  but  as  actors.  Our  own  eternal  interests  fire 
staked  upon  its  issue. 

175 


176  LIFE  LESSONS. 

There  are  some  aspects  of  life  as  a  conflict  subordinate 
to  the  main  one  which  the  Bible  presents,  which  ought 
not  perhaps  to  be  overlooked.  It  is  very  rare  that  any 
man  gets  through  the  world  without  a  struggle  of  some 
kind.  Even  indolence,  reposing  on  the  lap  of  luxury,  has 
to  conquer  the  nausea  of  existence,  and  plant  ever  new 
batteries  of  amusement  and  diversion  to  kill  time,  and 
murder  the  hours  as  they  march  upon  him.  He  that  will 
not  work  has  to  suffer  in  his  encounter  with  poverty, 
hunger  and  rags.  Sometimes  he  must  have  a  sharp  and 
life-long  fight  with  conscience  and  his  better  convictions 
that  steadily  harass  him.  His  coveted  ease  is  at  best 
an  armed  neutrality.  While  he  rests  upon  his  arms  he 
is  beset  by  guerrillas  of  vice  and  anxious  alarms. 

But  most  men  sooner  or  later  learn  to  submit  to  the 
struggle  of  life,  and  enter  upon  it  more  or  less  manfully. 
Sometimes  that  struggle  is  narrowed  down  to  procuring 
the  means  to  keep  soul  and  body  together.  There  are 
thousands  whose  life  is  just  a  hand  to  hand  fight  for 
crusts,  rags,  and  shelter  from  the  storm.  They  grow 
thin  and  frail  and  grey  before  their  time,  in  toil  and 
weary  strivings  to  earn  the  pittance  that  keeps  them 
from  absolute  starvation.  It  is  a  very  dismal  business, 
and  yet  the  grace  of  God  sometimes  makes  it  glorious, 
turns  it  into  the  school  of  faith,  makes  it  the  furnace  of 
trial,  that  purges  away  the  dross,  and  refines  the  gold  of 
character. 

Others  struggle  for  wealth  or  competence.  Day  by 
day,  with  unremitting  toil,  they  contend  with  the  diffi- 
culties that  obstruct  business  success.  They  fight  with 
their  own  weariness  or  indolence,  endeavor  to  master  the 
methods  of  gain,  tunnel  the  track  of  their  enterprise 
through  the  heart  of  rocky  obstacles,  besiege  the  forces 


THE  CONFLICT  OF  LIFE. 


177 


of  fraud,  competition  and  design  that  stand  in  their 
way. 

Others  struggle  for  political  eminence.  They  fight 
their  way  by  argument,  intrigue,  bribery,  compromise — • 
in  the  street,  in  the  caucus,  and  on  the  platform.  And 
when  they  come  out  at  last  scarred  in  honor,  bleeditfg  in 
reputation,  with  conscience  well-nigh  shot  away,  with 
confidence  in  them  riddled  and  in  tatters,  we  feel  that 
all  their  honor  and  perquisites  are  but  the  shroud  to 
wrap  about  their  infamy,  the  tribute  of  respect  to  mere 
success. 

So  others  struggle  for  respectability.  They  envy  that 
position  to  which  some  around  them  have  attained.  As 
a  general  aspires  to  the  palm  of  victory,  so  they  aspire 
to  possess  a  rich  garment,  or  win  social  recognition,  or 
attain  genteel  manners,  and  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  pur- 
suing army,  they  prosecute  the  campaign  of  life,  and 
hope  soon,  by  forced  marches  or  persevering  assaults,  to 
carry  their  position  against  a  gold  chain  or  a  piece  of 
broadcloth,  a  flower  or  a  feather.  And  sometimes 
there  is  a  generalship  displayed  in  the  movements  that 
would  do  honor  to  the  ablest  military  strategist,  a  per- 
severance and  an  engineering  tact  rare  even  in  military 
science. 

No  doubt  in  these  and  other  ways,  a  great  deal  of  in- 
tellectual drill  and  discipline  is  secured.  Even  children, 
with  faculties  sharpened  by  contact  with  want  and  crime 
and  schemes  of  fraud,  become  premature  veterans.  They 
are  trained  to  perfection  as  unscrupulous  intellectual  or 
selfish  machines,  and  they  fight  out  the  battle  of  life, 
with  the  tact  of  guerrillas  or  the  desperation  of  pirates. 

But  all  this  is  quite  aside  from  the  real  conflict  of  life 
assigned  us  in  the  providence  of  God.  Our  business 
8* 


178  LIFE  LESSONS. 

here  is  to  contend  with  sin  and  temptation  and  the  pow- 
ers of  darkness,  and  to  carry  our  souls  unharmed  through 
the  assaults  of  this  present  world,  following  close  in  the 
footsteps  of  Jesus,  the  great  Captain  of  our  Salvation. 
We  need  bread,  and  we  must  work  for  it.  We  want 
established  character  and  confidence,  and  we  must  strug- 
gle to  maintain  integrity,  and  vindicate  our  good  name 
by  a  consistent  life.  We  want  the  comforts  of  social 
existence,  the  means  of  intellectual  improvement  and 
enjoyment,  and  for  those  we  must  strive  and  toil ;  but 
these  things  imply  only  the  skirmishes  incidental  to  life's 
great  battle.  Pervaded  by  a  holy  purpose — endured  or 
performed  by  a  faith  that  looks  through  them  to  their 
spiritual  significance  as  discipline,  they  become  an  essen- 
tial and  integral  part  of  the  conflict,  and  yet  he  that 
looks  only  to  the  attainment  of  worldly  good,  and  expends 
no  thought  on  what  lies  beyond,  has  not  as  yet  obtained 
the  first  proper  conception  of  the  real  meaning  of  the 
conflict  itself. 

In  the  first  place,  we  have  to  contend  with  the  de- 
pravity of  our  fallen  nature.  Within  our  souls  are  our 
most  powerful  and  dangerous  foes.  He  that  is  victorious 
and  well  armed  within  is  truly  a  conqueror,  and  may  des- 
pise all  outward  assault.  But  if  within  his  own  bosom  are 
lodged  traitor  passions  that  rule  there,  if  his  unsubdued 
lusts  carry  him  away  at  will,  and  sway  the  desires  and 
aims  of  the  soul,  then  all  his  wrestlings  against  external 
temptations  are  vain.  He  is  delivered  over  helpless  to 
their  grasp.  He  is  like  a  shorn  Samson  in  the  hands 
of  the  Philistines. 

First  of  all,  therefore,  he  must  conquer  his  own  heart 
for  truth  and  God.  The  kingdom  of  heaven  must  be  set 
up  within.  All  secession  and  treason  must  be  driven 


THE  CONFLICT  OF  LIFE. 


179 


out,  that  the  law  of  God  may  rule  there.  The  code  of 
selfishness  must  be  expunged  from  the  soul's  statute-book. 
The  anarchy  of  a  lawless  will — saying  we  will  not  have 
God  to  rule  over  us — must  be  subdued. 

This  is  a  great  work,  and  the  soul  unaided  will  never 
accomplish  it.  Native  resolution  is  unequal  to  the  task. 
The  instruction  and  guidance  of  worldly  wisdom  alone 
never  yet  effected  it.  The  soul  matched  simply  against 
itself  is  lost.  It  must  have  help  from  above.  The  grace 
of  God  must  come  to  its  rescue.  "  This  kind  goeth  not 
forth  save  by  prayer  and  fasting."  The  revolution  with- 
in that  throws  off  the  usurped  authority  of  Satan  and 
the  powers  of  darkness,  can  be  carried  forward  only  by 
a  divine  energy.  He  that  would  fight  successfully  the 
great  conflict  of  life,  must  first  of  all  recognize  his  de- 
pendence on  a  higher  power.  He  must  place  himself 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.  He  must  take  the 
weapons  of  prayer,  and  call  mightily  on  Him  who  by  the 
gift  of  the  Spirit  can  change  the  nature  of  the  soul  and 
transform  it  into  His  own  image. 

And  then  he  must  still  pray  on.  He  must  guard 
against  everything  that  would  repress  his  progress  in 
holiness,  or  obscure  his  hopes,  or  separate  his  soul  from 
God.  He  must  keep  the  great  and  glorious  example  of 
his  Master  in  his  eye.  He  must  be  vigilant  lest-he  be 
surprised  by  temptation.  He  must  be  aware  of  the  foes 
that  lie  in  ambush  within  and  around  him.  He  must 
study  his  own  imperfections  and  infirmities,  as  a  careful 
general  will  study  and  repair  the  weak  points  in  the  for- 
tress which  he  is  charged  to  defend.  He  must  allow  no 
selfish  aim,  no  worldly  suggestions,  to  creep  in  and  throw 
open  the  gates  of  the  soul  to  the  powers  of  darkness. 
He  must  strive  to  keep  the  soil  of  'Ms  heart  as  sacred 


i8o  LIFE  LESSONS. 

from  all  unhallowed  intrusion,  as  that  where  Moses  met 
with  God,  and  put  off  his  shoes  from  his  feet. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  perfect  holiness  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord — no  easy  task  to  bring  the  soul"  up  from  its  low  aims 
to  a  heavenly  standard — no  easy  task  to  crush  its  spiritual 
foes  beneath  its  feet.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  battle  is 
more  desperate  than  at  others.  Strong  men  have  wrestled 
and  struggled  mightily  against  mighty  foes.  See  Peter, 
with  all  his  impetuous  zeal,  overcome  and  led  to  deny  his 
Master.  See  Demas  betraying  his  trust,  "  having  loved 
this  present  world.77  Note  the  sin  of'Noah,  the  distrust 
of  Abraham,  the  impatience  of  Moses,  the  fall  of  David, 
the  stumblings  of  Solomon.  Read  what  history  tells  us 
of  Cranmer's  weakness  when  threatened  with  the  flames, 
and  Bacon's  intellectual  greatness  tarnished  with  the 
corruption  of  his  bribes. 

I  have  seen  and  known  those  who  seemed  in  a  position 
not  unlike  that  of  Christ,  when  the  Great  Tempter  for  a 
sinful  compliance  promised  Him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world,  and  the  glory  of  them,  and  I  have  seen  them  make 
what  I  feared  was  the  fatal  choice.  There,  on  one  hand 
was  the  humble  obedience  and  blessedness  of  a  child  of 
God,  and  on  the  other  were  the  prizes  of  worldly  distinc- 
tions, and  these  proved  more  powerful  and  carried  the  day. 

But  more  common  foes  are  those  which  assume  a  less 
imposing  shape,  or  which  sometimes  wear  a  prophet's 
mantle.  The  ancient  seer  thought  he  did  well  to  be 
angry.  Men  would  resist  a  plain,  unmasked  open-faced 
devil ;  but  if  only  the  schemes  of  their  selfish  gratifica- 
tions are  wrapped  about  with  spiritual  professions,  they 
are  willingly  and  easily  misled.  They  will  sometimes 
fight  Satan's  battle  under  God's  banner,  and  think  they 
are  doing  God  service. 


THE  CONFLICT  OF  LIFE.  181 

But  generally  the  evils  we  have  .to  combat  in  the  con- 
flict of  life  are  plain  enough  to  him  that  will  understand. 
The  good  fight  is  the  fight  with  sin — sin  within  and  sin 
without — whatever  would  overcome  us  or  keep  our  souls 
from  God.  This  implies  indeed  opposition  to  all  evils 
that  come  properly  within  the  sphere  of  our  effort — the 
chronic  depravity  of  the  world,  the  phases  of  iniquity 
which  corrupt  morals,  and  make  gain  godliness,  and 
blight  the  influences  of  the  Gospel,  and  sometimes  we 
must  come  to  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  these.  It  may 
be  that,  in  fidelity  .to  our  own  convictions,  we  must  like 
Paul  fight  with  beasts  at  Ephesus,  or  attack  sin  in  its 
strongholds,  like  John  before  Herod,  or  endure  reproach 
from  those  who  blindly  or  wilfully  misrepresent  us.  And 
yet  we  are  to  fight  our  way  through  with  the  patience 
of  Job  and  the  charity  of  Jesus,  so  that  abuse  shall  leave 
no  scar  on  our  even  temper,  and  disappointment  shall 
generate  no  bitterness  of  spirit,  and  our  zeal  shall  not 
prove  a  sword  on  which  we  fall  ourselves. 

For  it  is  far  more  difficult  to  guard  against  the  thrusts 
of  the  Tempter,  than  to  strike  blows  at  solid,  organized 
wickedness  outside  of  us.  A  man  may  invoke  heaven's 
vengeance  on  some  outrageous  wrong,  and  yet  have  the 
very  essence  of  that  wrong  enshrined  in  his  own  soul,  as 
I  have  heard  of  a  parent  swearing  to  his  child  that  he 
would  punish  him  if  he  swore.  The  real  battle  of  life  is 
not  in  the  street,  the  market,  the  caucus,  the  hall  of  legis- 
lation —it  is  in  a  man's  own  soul.  There,  with  no  eye  on 
it  but  God's,  the  fight  begins  and  goes  on.  As  there  is 
success  or  defeat  there,  the  issue  of  life  itself  is  decided 
for  good  or  evil.  The  conqueror  within  will  be  the 
conqueror  without.  Who  that  has  lingered  over  the 
wrestlings  of  Luther,  that  has  watched  his  anxious  strug- 


182  LIFE  LESSONS. 

gling  spirit  in  the  monastic  cell,  and  as  he  climbed  St. 
Peter's  stairs  at  Rome,  or  flung  his  inkstand  at  the  dark 
shadow  on  the  walls  of  the  Wartburg ;  who  that  has 
gazed  upon  Saul  in  the  agony  of  his  blindness  and  self- 
accusations,  waiting  for  Ananias ;  or  read  Bunyan's 
"  Grace  abounding  to  the  Chief  of  Sinners/'  that  makes 
us  feel  how  real  to  him  were  the  Slough  of  Despair, 
the  Hill  Difficulty,  and  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death — does  not  feel  that  these  men,  by  the  grace  of 
God  were  made  victorious  in  the  great  inward  struggle 
of  life,  before  ever  they  were  prepared  to  strike  those 
blows  whose  echo  rings  yet  in  the  ears  of  the  world  ? 

Practically,  then,  the  good  fight  is  fought  within  the 
soul.  Paul  fought  with  the  beasts  within  before  he 
fought  with  the  beasts  at  Ephesus.  He  struggled  against 
his  own  proud  heart,  before  he  grappled  or  was  fitted  to 
grapple  with  the  great  dragon  of  Pagan  idolatries.  In 
the  full  impetus  of  his  course  he  speaks  of  pressing  for- 
ward to  the  mark.  He  kept  his  body  under,  and  brought 
it  into  subjection.  He  found  a  law  in  his  members 
warring  against  the  law  of  his  mind,  and  bringing  him 
into  captivity  to  the  law  of  sin.  Here  was  the  fight 
which  in  the  eye  of  heaven  was  the  Thermopylae  of  his 
life's  campaign.  Without  having  been  a  victor  here,  he 
had  never  made  Felix  tremble  on  his  judgment-seat,  or 
disputed  daily  in  the  school  of  one  Tyrannus,  or  preached 
the  Gospel  to  Caesar's  household.  But  victorious  within, 
he  was  armed  and  strengthened  for  a  life-long  struggle 
with  principalities  and  powers,  and  spiritual  wickedness 
in  high  places.  Victories  at  Philippi,  at  Ephesus,  at 
Rome,  were  but  the  natural  sequents  of  victories  won 
over  the  lusts  and  vanities  and  passions  of  his  own 
heart. 


THE  CONFLICT  OF  LIFE.  183 

This  good  fight  is  the  one  to  which  we  are  all  sum- 
moned. You  may  not  feel  that  there  is  any  to  be  fought. 
Satan  may  be  besieging  you  unmolested  and  at  his  leisure. 
He  may  have  not  yet  completed  his  battery  or  fortifica- 
tions. He  may  not  yet  have  succeeded  in  cutting  off  the 
hope  of  retreat.  He  may  not  have  yet  solemnly  and 
formally  summoned  you  to  surrender.  He  may  not  yet 
have  brought  you  hopelessly  under  the  range  of  your 
own  habits  ;  he  may  not  yet  have  planted  his  mortars  so 
as  to  burst  their  deadly  shells  in  the  magazine  of  con- 
science. You  may  be  led  by  the  quiet  unconcern  of  your 
own  spirit  to  feel  that  for  you  there  is  no  struggle. 

But  this  would  be  a  great  mistake.  The  struggle 
must — it  will  come.  The  sooner  the  better.  Every 
hour's  delay  to  resist  diminishes  the  hope  of  successful 
resistance.  Even  now,  is  not  the  foe  dangerously  near  ? 
Have  you  not  already  been  yielding  too  long  ?  What 
effort  have  you  put  forth  to  save  your  soul?  What 
struggle  against  an  evil  nature  within  you  has  been  yet 
noted  by  the  great  cloud  of  witnesses  ?  Have  you  yet 
passed  from  darkness  to  light  ?  Are  you  ranged  under 
the  banner  of  God  and  truth  ?  Are  you  trampling  on 
one  after  another  of  those  unhallowed  desires  and  feel- 
ings and  tastes  and  habits  which  Christ  cannot  approve  ? 

If  not,  it  is  time  that  the  good  fight  was  begun.  It  is  timo 
that  you  measured  the  strength  of  the  foes  that  withstand 
your  progress  toward  heaven.  A  little  longer — and  you 
might  in  vain  have  worlds  given  you  to  purchase  the 
peace  of  the  conscious  assurance,  "I  have  fought  the 
good  fight!" 


XXII. 

LIFE   AN  EDUCATION. 

'^Reaching  forth  unto  those  things  which  are  before." — PHIL,  iii.  13. 

AN  old  heathen  philosopher  was  once  asked  what  it 
was  necessary  that  boys  should  learn.  "Those 
things/'  he  replied,  "  which  they  will  need  to  know  when 
they  become  men." 

There  was  sound  philosophy  in  his  answer.  It  em- 
bodies the  true  principle  of  education.  The  sports  and 
plays  of  childhood  must  not  crowd  out  the  lessons  tliat 
fit  one  for  manly  duties — the  lessons  that  train  the  mind, 
the  heart  and  all  the  energies  and  affections  of  the  soul. 
If  they  do  it  they  make  one  first  a  plaything,  and  then  a 
wreck.  They  fling  upon  society  another  instalment  of 
human  rubbish.  They  multiply  indolence,  crime,  and 
misery.  The  entire  neglect  of  intellectual,  moral  and 
religious  training  for  one  generation  among  the  most 
cultivated  people,  would  throw  them  back  hopelessly  and 
inevitably  into  barbarism  and  heathenism. 

But  the  usefulness,  happiness,  and  success  of  the  individ- 
ual for  his  whole  after  life,  are  usually  determined  by  his 
early  training.  A  mistake  here  casts  a  shadow  over  all 
his  years,  that  can  scarcely  be  deepened  by  the  shadows 
of  the  grave.  Leave  his  mind  unfurnished  by  wholesome 
truth,  and  it  ever  remains,  instead  of  a  parlor  or  a  work- 
US*) 


LIFE  AN  ED  UOA  TION.  1 8  5 

shop,  a  cobwebbed  garret.  The  vacant  apartments  of 
thought  are  occupied  by  vermin  and  rubbish.  Leave 
the  passions  unsubdued,  and  they  turn  the  soul  into  a 
tiger's  cage,  and  a  man  grows  up  a  self-willed,  capricious, 
violent,  tyrannic  being,  uncomfortable  himself  and  un- 
comfortable to  everybody  else,  always  in  trouble,  and 
practically  an  Ishmael,  domineering  or  impetuous,  a  tyrant 
or  a  criminal.  Let  the  individual  be  left  to  his  appetites, 
let  him  be  indulged  in  having  whatever  he  craves,  and  he 
will  always  be  governed  by  his  impulses,  and  his  thirst 
for  pleasure,  till  nothing  will  satisfy  him ;  content  will 
be  impossible.  He  will  be  uneasy,  restless,  wretched — 
in  heart  like  "  the  wandering  Jew,"  in  life  "  like  a  wave 
of  the  sea,  driven  of  the  wind  and  tossed." 

It  is  a  fearful  thing — the  tragedy  of  the  soul  here — to 
drift  upon  the  years  and  duties  of  manhood,  with  the  wis- 
dom of  a  child,  but  the  will  and  passions  of  a  man.  A 
catastrophe  of  some  kind  is  sure.  It  may  be  spread  out 
over  scores  of  years,  or  it  may  be  concentrated  in  some 
sudden  gust  of  passion  or  desperation.  Sometimes  life 
becomes  a  long  drawn  agony,  a  protracted  spasm  of  un- 
satisfied appetite,  due  simply  to  the  fact  that  the  mind 
was  left  to  neglect.  It  grew  up  uncared  for,  and  became 
like  a  garden  of  weeds,  or  an  uncultured  thicket. 

We  know  this.  We  see  it.  The  picture  of  the  reality 
before  our  eyes,  painted  on  canvas  woven  out  of  human 
hopes  and  fears,  and  colored  in  blood.  We  know  also 
the  elements  of  a  happy  life — a  life  whose  even  flow 
knows  neither  stagnation  nor  cataract,  firm  in  duty,  beau- 
tiful in  integrity  and  virtue,  rich  in  inward  peace  and 
smiling  memories  and  pure  affections,  contented  with  its 
lot,  cheerful  in  hope,  genial  in  spirit,  and  abiding  con- 
sciously under  the  smile  of  God.  Such  a  life  is  no  mush- 


186  LIFE  LE880N8. 

room.  It  is  no  morning  glory.  It  is  no  accident.  It  is 
as  much  the  result  of  training  and  God's  grace,  as  the 
harvest  is  of  the  seed  and  sunshine. 

Even  thus — with  life  bounded  by  three  score  years  and 
ten — we  feel  how  important  is  the  education — how  im- 
portant all  the  influences  that  shape  character,  how  much 
depends  on  the  way  one  lays  out  in  early  days  the  plans 
for  days  to  come.  But  prolong  existence — make  it  a 
thousand  years  :  make  it  a  hundred  thousand — and  who 
does  not  see  that  if  years  to  come  are  shaped  by  the  pres- 
ent, the  arithmetic  of  morals  is  unequal  to  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  the  importance  of  these  years  that  are  passing 
now. 

And  who  can  doubt  that  the  future  is  shaped  by  the 
present?  All  observation  assures  it.  All  experience 
confirms  it.  The  maxims  of  life  assume  it.  The  truth  is 
engraved  on  the  history  of  character,  of  nations  as  of 
men.  "  As  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree  ?s  inclined."  The 
scarred  sappling  never  forgets  its  wound.  Educate  a 
child  in  vice,  accustom  him  to  falsehood,  and  hateful  as 
they  are,  the  chances  are  that  he  will  cling  to  them,  and 
they  will  cling  to  him.  He  does  not,  cannot  shake  off 
the  serpent  coil. 

When  the  foundations  are  laid,  it  is  not  easy  to  go  back 
of  them  or  tear  them  up  ;  the  bounds  of  the  structure  are 
defined.  All  that  is  added  must  be  built  on  it.  It  is  so 
with  character.  Manhood  completes  the  plan  of  youth — 
rarely  does  more  than  what  that  foreshadows.  But  if 
time  is  the  soul's  childhood,  eternity  is  its  manhood. 
The  foundations  of  the  structure  are  laid  here,  and  its 
bounds  are  defined.  What  we  shall  be  for  ever  we  be- 
gin to  be  now,  and  the  shape  which  the  soul  takes  in 
time  it  carries  with  it  beyond  the  grave. 


LIFE  AN  ED UGA  TION.  \  87 

Now  it  is  the  inward  disposition  of  the  uoul  that  de- 
cides its  happiness  or  misery.  It  is  so  here.  The  body 
makes  little  difference.  A  soul  possessed  of  heaven's 
own  peace,  is  little  shaken  by  the  world's  jars,  or  by  the 
trembling  of  its  clay  tenement.  A  soul  morally  diseased, 
or  ruled  by  selfish  passions,  or  at  variance  with  God 
and  holiness,  would  be  wretched  in  a  body  of  iron  nerves, 
or  under  features  cast  in  the  finest  mould.  The  elements 
of  our  real  life — the  light  or  darkness  in  which  we  walk 
— the  joys  or  griefs  we  feel— are  not  visible  in  the  out- 
ward form.  So  that  we  inevitably  conclude  that — in  the 
body  or  out  of  the  body,  it  matters  not — the  happiness 
of  our  being  depends  mainly  on  the  soul.  Death  will 
take  away  nothing  from,  and  add  nothing  to,  what  is 
stored  up  in  the  soul.  It  will  only  rob  the  spirit  that 
leaned  on  material  things,  and  diverted  itself  by  sensual 
indulgence  or  worldly  association  or  outward  forms,  of 
the  staff  on  which  it  leaned,  and  fling  it  back  on  itself, 
on  its  own  spiritual  bankruptcy,  on  its  own  meagre  and 
dull  society  and  weariness  of  existence,  from  which  it 
once  fled  to  the  giddiest  follies  of  show  and  pageantry. 
This  refuge  will  be  denied  it.  It  can  no  longer  go  forth 
like  the  evil  spirit  of  which  we  read,  even  into  dry  places, 
seeking  rest  which  is  never  found.  The  dry  places  will 
be  wanting.  The  soul  can  no  more  divert  itself  by  eye, 
ear,  or  taste,  but  only  sit  down  to  the  banquet  of  its  own 
thoughts,  and  pluck  the  fruits  from  trees  of  its  own 
planting. 

Here,  a  wicked  man  will  contrive,  by  the  body's  help, 
to  get  on  with  a  kind  of  comfort.  He  will  go  out  of 
himself.  Intolerant  of  his  own  company,  and  wretched 
in  it,  he  rushes  to  books,  shows,  balls,  theatres,  pugilistic 
encounters.  He  turns  his  back  on  himself  and  goes 


188  LIFE  LESSONS. 

abroad.  But  crumble  off  the  instruments  by  which  the 
soul  converses  with  the  external  world,  let  it  sink  into 
itself,  and  then  do  you  hasten  and  insure  the  result  of 
making  a  man's  happiness,  or  misery  correspond  to  his 
moral  being.  The  image  in  the  mirror  will  not  be  more 
true.  Then  the  passions  which,  like  envy,  gnawed  the 
bosoms  that  cherished  them,  will  have  no  check. 

Now  put  this  disembodied  spirit  on  the  track  of  an 
endless  existence,  without  any  positive  infliction,  but  only 
just  left  to  itself.  Character,  poured  liquid  into  the 
mould  of  seventy  years,  has  become  cast  iron.  Habit  is 
second  nature,  and  confirms  nature.  How  long  must  one 
wait  before  the  soul,  self-alienated  from  God,  and  thus 
excluded  from  every  holy  and  pure  joy  flowing  from 
divine  communion,  with  tastes  and  longings  and  appe- 
tites that  crave  their  old  indulgence  but  are  denied  it 
forevermore,  with  habits  of  diverting  and  engrossing 
itself  in  what  the  crumbling  body  denies  it  access  to 
henceforth — how  long  before  it  will  sink  under  the  intol- 
erable burden  and  count  conscious  existence  itself  a  curse 
and  a  perpetual  torture  ? 

Will  it  help  the  matter  to  take  note  how  long  it  takes 
a  man  to  become  disgusted  with  himself  and  the  world 
and  his  own  existence  here — or  rather  how  soon  he  runs 
through  the  world  as  he  runs  through  his  fortune  —how 
soon  with  sun  and  moon  and  stars  and  flowers  and  feasts 
and  dance  and  jests  to  help  adjourn  the  crisis,  it  comes 
upon  him  ?  Was  Lord  Chesterfield,  the  prince  of  wits 
and  gentlemen,  a  fool  ?  Did  he  rush  on  a  blind  fate  ? 
And  yet  hear  him,  as  if  he  had  caught  the  echo  of  Solo- 
mon's "vanity  of  vanities/7  declaring  that  as  for  the  rest 
of  his  life's  journey,  he  meant  to  sleep  it  out  in  his  car- 
riage ! 


LIFE  AN  ED  UCA  TION.  \  89 

A  man  wants  more  than  his  wit,  or  fortune,  or  nobility, 
or  philosophy,  to  reach  hopefully,  and  peacefully,  and 
cheerfully,  the  close  of  his  three  score  years  and  ten. 
Old  age  that  follows  a  reckless  youth  and  a  stormy  man- 
hood is  apt  to  cling  to  a  life  it  loathes,  and  to  grow  in- 
tolerably disgusted  with  an  existence  which  it  dreads  to 
relinquish.  Those  former  delights  charm  no  more.  The 
full  soul  loathes  the  honeycomb.  The  creature  of  fash- 
ionable folly  is  satiated,  cloyed.  Nothing  but  religion 
can  turn  the  shadows  of  its  declining  years  into  the  dawn- 
ing twilight  of  immortal  day. 

If,  then,  it  is  folly,  manifest  and  inexcusable,  to  plunge 
in  youth  into  those  follies  and  fashions,  and  indulge  those 
tastes  and  form  those  habits,  which  will  turn  later  life 
into  an  arid  desert,  and  fill  the  soul  with  restless  pas- 
sions and  discontent,  how  much  greater  and  grosser  the 
folly  that  wastes  this  springtime  of  existence,  makes  no 
provision  for  immortality,  and  flings  the  soul  unfurnished 
upon  the  stern  realities  and  sad  experience  of  the  life  to 
come. 

You  cannot  doubt — no  man  can — that  the  need  of  the 
disembodied  spirit  is  that  which  gives  to  the  soul  here 
the  peace  of*  God  and  the  blessedness  of  a  renewed  and 
holy  nature.  You  cannot  doubt — no  man  can — that  the 
spiritual  education  which  the  soul  receives  on  earth  will 
cast  its  long  shadows  of  curse  or  blessing  over  the  im- 
mortality to  come.  You  cannot  doubt — no  man  can — 
that  before  every  man  is  the  awful  possibility  of  an  illim- 
itable existence  hereafter,  when  every  added  year  shall 
press  with  a  crushing  weight  of  satiety  and  loathing  on  a 
soul  left  to  itself,  with  no  resources  of  divine  or  holy 
communion,  but  ever  tossed  on  the  restless  waves  of  crav- 
ing yet  unsatisfied  desires,  and  bitter  or  aching  memories. 


190  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Will  you  then,  an  heir  of  immortality,  pay  less  regard 
to  the  eternal  years  to  come  than  to  just  this  fleeting 
hour  ?  A  child,  wilful  and  ungoverned,  may  rush  into 
those  paths  of  heedless  pleasure  which  lea,d  through  the 
gates  of  dissipation  to  an  infamous  and  wretched  old  age, 
if  not  to  an  early  doom,  and  to  a  grave  of  shame — but 
will  you  with  your  eyes  open,  scorn  the  claims  of  that 
religion,  by  the  power  of  which  alone,  your  soul  can  be 
received,  and  your  spirit  be  fitted  for  the  joys  and  service 
of  the  spirit  world  ?  Will  you,  building  for  eternity,  lay 
the  foundation  of  your  immortal  destiny  on  the  sands 
and  pebbles  of  time — on  the  indulgence  of  wanton  or 
capricious  tastes,  on  show  and  pageant  and  fashionable 
folly  and  heartless,  godless  mirth,  which,  ere  you  die, 
may  sink  beneath  you,  and  leave  you  at  the  mercy  of 
your  own  vain  thoughts  and  accusing  memories  ? 

What  will  you  need  most  as  a  member  of  the  great 
heavenly  family,  as  a  citizen  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  as 
one  of  that  great  throng  who  cast  their  crowns  at  the 
feet  of  Him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  rejoice  in 
the  light  of  his  presence  and  the  joy  of  his  smile  forever- 
more  !  What  will  you  need  most  in  such  a  sinless  and 
blessed  world  as  you  must  imagine  that  of  *the  saved  to 
be,  with  angels  and  the  Redeemed  for  your  associates, 
and  with  no  access  thenceforth  to  the  sensual  delights 
that  amused  and  diverted  on  earth  ? 

Will  you  need  that  holy  education  for  which  the  Scrip- 
tures are  the  text-book — lessons  from  the  life  and  lips  of 
Him  who  said  "  learn  of  me  ?" — the  penitent  believing 
spirit  that  humbly  relies  on  the  grace  of  Christ,  knows 
no  will  but  God's,  and  by  discipline  has  been  brought  to 
a  loving  and  cheerful  obedience  ? 


XXIII. 

CULTURE  OF  A  HOLY  LIFE. 

"The  boughs  thereof  were  like  the  goodly  cedars." — Ps.  Ixxx.  10. 

IF  you  had  presented  you  from  some  kind  and  generous 
friend,  some  very  precious  shrub  or  plant  which  he 
had  brought  you  from  a  distant  land,  and  you  had  planted 
it  in  a  favored  spot  in  your  garden,  how  carefully 
would  you  watch  over  it,  and  study  how  you  might  pro- 
tect it  from  exposure,  and  encourage  its  growth !  It 
might  not  yet  have  produced  fruit  or  flower ;  it  might, 
indeed,  be  little  more  than  a  sightless  homely  root,  but 
assured  that  it  was  capable  of  a  bloom  as  exquisite  as 
nature  can  boast,  or  a  fruit  as  luscious  as  the  tropics  can 
produce — how  deeply  would  you  be  affected  by  anything 
which  tended  to  injure  it ! 

Need  I  say  that  if  the  seed  of  God's  truth  has  been 
planted  in  your  heart,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  has  caused 
it  to  germinate,  you  have  there  in  that  invisible  garden 
of  which  God  has  constituted  you  the  keeper,  a  plant 
that  outrivals  in  worth  anything  that  is  brought  from 
distant  continents  or  the  islands  of  the  sea.  Let  it  grow 
as  it  ought,  and  its  bloom  is  richer  than  that  of  the  rose  ; 
its  fragrance  is  sweeter  than  that  of  orange  bowers  ;  and 
its  fruits  have  no  parallel  even  in  the  fabled  gardens  of 
the  Hesperides.  It  comes  from  far.  It  is  an  exotic 

(191) 


192  LIFE  LESSONS. 

from  heaven.  It  is  watered  by  the  blood  of  redemption. 
It  is  fanned  by  the  breath  of  the  Spirit,  and  its  garnered 
harvests  are  the  treasures  of  immortal  blessedness  be- 
yond the  grave. 

Such  a  plant  as  this  demands  your  care.  No  worm 
should  gnaw  its  root ;  no  mildew  should  blight  its  vigor  ; 
no  tempest  should  rend  its  limbs.  No  culture  of  other 
plants  should  interfere  with  your  culture  of  this.  Better 
let  them  be  overgrown  or  dwarfed,  or  left  to  perish,  than 
allow  this  to  suffer  from  neglect. 

It  is  possible  that  you  have  no  such  plant  to  care  for 
or  cherish.  You  may  possibly  never  have  spent  a 
thought  on  procuring  it.  There  are  many  things  planted 
in  the  garden  of  your  heart,  but  this  is  not  there.  There 
are  domestic  affections,  love  of  father,  mother,  brother, 
sister,  child,  or  friend — but  not  love  of  God.  There  is 
delight  in  pleasure,  not  delight  in  holiness ;  desire  for 
gain,  not  desire  for  heaven.  What  does  this  mean? 
Are  you  giving  up  God's  garden  to  waste  ?  Are  you 
surrendering  to  grass,  if  not  weeds,  soil  that  might  pro- 
duce the  very  fruits  of  heaven  itself?  Have  you  allowed 
a  barren  fig-tree  to  grow  where  a  tree  of  life  ought 
to  be? 

I  go  in  the  spring  time  into  the  little  yard  where  you 
have  what  you  call  your  garden.  It  is  perhaps  a  very 
small  patch  of  ground — possibly  only  a  rod  or  two 
square.  I  look  and  see  how  carefully  you  have  filled  it 
up.  You  have  not  been  content  with  the  seed  that  came 
first  at  hand.  You  have  deliberated  and  asked  yourself 
what  is  it  best  to  put  in  the  narrow  plat.  You  wanted 
to  make  the  most  of  it,  if  it  was  small,  and  so  you 
selected  the  choicest  seeds  and  roots.  There  is  no  wild 
flower  there.  There  is  no  unsightly  or  fruitless  plant  there. 


CULTURE  OF  A  HOLT  LIFE. 


193 


Do  you  deal  so  carefully  with  that  little  plot  of 
ground,  and-  so  carelessly  with  the  garden  of  your  own 
soul— broad  enough  for  the  harvests  of  coming  years, 
rich  enough  to  support  the  tree  of  life?  There  is  no 
other  soil  like  it.  Western  prairies  are  deserts  to  it. 
Mind,  as  mind,  furnishes  no  parallel.  The  heart  is  in- 
comparably richer  than  all.  It  might  under  fitting  cul- 
ture produce  the  fruits  of  everlasting  life. 

And  have  you  left  it  to  its  own  rank  and,  perhaps, 
noxious  growths  ?  Have  you  suffered  your  own  natural 
desires  to  spring  up  there  almost  unchecked  ?  God  for- 
bid that  such  a  record  should  last  one  day  longer ! 

But  I  will  venture  to  suppose  that  there  is  something 
there  beside  the  seeds  of  selfishness  and  irreligion,  and 
the  growths  of  worldliness.  You  have  a  conscience. 
Have  you  cultivated  that?  A  man  who  will  not  be 
suspected  of  fanaticism  at  least,  has  said  of  himself : — 
"  A  little  boy  in  petticoats,  in  my  fourth  year,  my  father 
sent  me  from  the  field,  home.  A  spotted  tortoise,  in 
shallow  water,  at  the  foot  of  the  rodora,  caught  my 
attention,  and  I  lifted  my  stick  to  strike  it,  when  a  voice 
within  me  said,  'It  is  wrong.7  I  stood  with  uplifted 
stick,  in  wonder  at  the  new  emotion,  till  rodora  and  the 
tortoise  vanished  from  my  sight. 

"  I  hastened  home  and  asked  my  mother  what  it  was 
that  told  me  it  was  wrong. 

"  Wiping  a  tear  from  her  eye,  and  taking  me  in  her 
arms,  she  said, '  Some  men  call  it  conscience,  but  I  prefer 
to  call  it  the  voice  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man.  If  you 
listen  to  it  and  obey  it,  then  it  will  speak  clearer,  and 
always  guide  you  right.  But  if  you  turn  a  deaf  ear,  or 
disobey,  then  it  will  fade  out  little  by  little,  and  leave 
you  in  the  dark  without  a  guide,7 " 

JL 


194  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Is  not  conscience  something  to  be  cultivated  ?  Guard 
it  inviolate — there  is  not  a  more  tender  and  yet  more 
precious  plant  on  which  you  can  bestow  your  care. 

But  has  not  the  seed  of  God's  holy  truth  been  planted 
•  in  your  soul  ?  Have  you  not  heard  words  from  heaven 
unspeakably  more  valuable  than  any  seed  sent  from 
China,  or  India,  or  our  western  coasts — words  that  in 
other  hearts,  under  the  dews  of  grace  and  the  breath  of 
the  Spirit,  have  ripened  into  penitence  and  love,  and 
self-denial,  and  Christ-like  charities — words  that  have 
become  the  mottoes  of  Brainerds  and  Howards  and  Mar- 
tyns — the  watchwords  of  missionaries  and  martyrs — the 
light  of  youth  and  the  staff  of  age — the  sword  of  the 
warrior  or  the  banner  of  the  victor  ?  You  have  heard 
these  words.  Have  you  allowed  them  to  take  root  in 
your  heart,  the  very  soil  God  designed  for  them,  or  are 
they  to-day  devoured  by  the  crows  or  left  parching  in 
the  sun  ? 

Perhaps  you  have  some  faint  feeble  desire  after  a  bet- 
ter portion.  So  have  I  seen  the  little  tender  plant  under 
heaps  of  rubbish,  struggling  with  natural  instinct  to  find 
its  way  underneath  fragments  or  through  crevices  up  to 
the  light.  Under  years  of  worldliness  this  feeble  desire 
is  almost  buried,  but  a  mother's  hand  planted  it,  and  a 
mother's  tears  watered  it,  perhaps,  and  it  is  not  quite 
dead  yet.  Will  you  let  it  die?  Will  you  thwart  it 
still  ?  Oh,  beware  how  you  crush  it  to  the  dust !  Let 
it  perish — and  perhaps  it  is  near  it  now,  and  what  spring 
time  shall  ever  revive  it  ? 

But  is  there  indeed  a  germ  of  genuine  penitence  in 
your  soul  ?  Is  love  to  God  rooted  there,  however  feebly  ? 
Does  the  purpose— no  dried  leaf,  no  dead  fossil — live 
there  to  serve  your  Maker — to  glorify  the  great  Being  in 


CULTURE  OF  A  HOLT  LIFE. 


'95 


whose  hand  your  breath  is  ?  Then  it  is  more  than  whole 
burnt-offerings  and  sacrifices.  He  that  will  not  break 
the  bruised  reed,  or  quench  the  smoking  flax  will  account 
more  of  that  than  of  the  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills. 
The  broken  and  the  contrite  heart  he  will  not  despise. 
The  germ  of  faith,  of  the  new  life  of  the  soul,  is  unspeak- 
ably precious.  From  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  to  the  hyssop 
on  the  wall,  there  is  no  other  like  it.  Its  value  is  beyond 
the  power  of  words  to  express.  It  is  the  one  thing  that 
turns  life's  desert  sands  to  more  than  golden  drift.  It 
sanctifies  the  dross  and  drudgery  of  life.  Its  roots 
should  run  their  fibres  underneath  all  your  plans  and 
draw  into  themselves  the  love  and  energy  and  strength 
of  the  soul,  till  the  crude  moisture  of  the  sod  is  changed 
into  the  golden  fruitage  of  a  second  Eden. 

Your  great  business  here  is  to  nurture  that  germ,  to 
cultivate  that  shoot,  to  train  it  up  into  a  tree  of  life  that 
shall  bear  fruit  for  God  and  heaven.  You  can  neglect 
it.  Many  do.  You  can  leave  it  unprotected  to  the  rob- 
bers of  the  air  and  street,  the  crows  of  the  wilderness  or 
the  vultures  of  gain.  You  can  take  no  pains  to  bring 
the  waters  of  the  river  of  God  into  channels  flowing  by 
its  roots ;  you  can  let  the  fiery  arrows  of  the  tempter 
whistle  through  it  and  strip  its  boughs.  You  can  indeed 
— just  by  neglect — make  it  the  worldling's  by -word,  a 
half-decayed  stump  that  does  little  more  than  mark  the 
place  where  a  Christian  ought  to  groiv  !  But  is  this 
worthy  of  a  soul  endowed  of  God  as  yours  is  ?  worthy 
"  of  such  capacities  as  yours — worthy  the  seed  sown  that 
was  brought  from  heaven — worthy  the  blood  by  which  it 
was  watered — worthy  the  harvest  you  would  hope  to 
reap  when  death  comes  to  tell  you  that  the  seed  time  of 
life  has  forever  fled  ? 


196  LIFE  LE880N8. 

Nothing  is  plainer  than  that  if  a  man  wants  to  have 
the  plant  of  piety  grow  in  his  soul,  he  must  cultivate  it. 
It  is  not  enough  to  attend  on  ordinances.  These  are 
needful.  They  are  like  light  and  warmth  to  the  plant. 
But  light  and  warmth  are  not  enough.  Plant  your  corn, 
and  give  it  unshadowed  to  the  sun.  Will  it  grow? 
Yes,  but  if  let  alone  it  will  grow  spindling,  and  the 
weeds  will  overtop  it,  and  its  rich  green  will  change  to  a 
sickly  hue,  and  there  will  be  no  corn  on  the  stalk.  It 
will,  in  fact,  be  stubble  and  nothing  more.  So,  if  you 
would  grow  in  grace,  you  must  keep  the  soil  of  the  plant 
stirred  and  loose,  you  must  cut  down  the  weeds — root 
out  tares — and  see  that  the  parched  earth  is  fed  with 
moisture. 

You  must  meditate  on  duty,  and  sin,  and  God.  The 
hour  of  meditation  is  like  that  evening  hour  when  all 
nature  with  open  lips  drinks  in  the  dews.  The  patriarch 
went  forth  to  meditate  at  evening  tide.  His  soul  could 
harmonize  with  the  scene.  That  solemn  hush  of  the 
world,  when  nature  seems  to  shut  her  eyelids,  and  sink 
to  silent  repose,  lias  its  meaning.  The  constant  glare  of 
the  sunshine  would  kill  a  plant.  You  want  rest  from  the 
glare  of  business  and  fashion.  You  want  your  hour  of 
sacred  repose.  Step  aside  from  the  busy  throng,  and 
think  what  you  are,  a  sinner — what  you  need,  grace — 
whose  you  are,  Christ's — what  you  hope  to  be,  a  re- 
deemed spirit  before  the  throne.  Let  the  world's  echoes 
die  away,  tilt  you  can  hear  the  still  small  voice.  With- 
draw from  all  human  presence  till  you  feel  that  you  are 
alone  with  the  Omnipotent.  Go  up  into  the  mount — 
higher — higher — till  you  tread  the  world  beneath  your 
feet,  or  look  down  on  it  as  a  tinseled  cheat,  or  see  it  lost 
in  the  overpowering  glories  of  eternity,  like  a  spot  on 


CULTURE  OF  A  HOLT  LIFE.  197 

the  disk  of  the  sun.  Then  may  the  dews  of  grace  fall, 
as  the  dews  of  heaven  do  in  the  still  hour,  refreshing, 
cheering,  joyous. 

Store  your  mind  with  God's  own  truth.  This  supplies 
the  vital  sap  of  the  soul.  Let  every  fibre  of  your  spirit 
drink  it  in,  and  you  shall  grow  in  grace  and  knowledge 
at  once.  "  There  is  but  one  book,"  said  the  dying  novel- 
ist, when  he  was  asked  what  he  would  hear  read.  There 
is  but  one  book  that  is  full  of  God,  or  which  can  fill  us 
with  all  His  fullness.  Read  it.  Ponder  it.  Not  Plato 
or  Bacon,  or  Addison,  but  He  that  spake  as  never  man 
spake — speaks  there.  Go  up  with  Him  to  the  mount,  and 
hear  His  sermon.  Sit  with  Him  at  the  table  and  listen 
to  His  words.  Walk  with  Him  in  the  fields  and  read 
His  paragraphs  syllabled  in  flowers,  and  tares  and  fig- 
trees.  Take  David's  harp  and  sweep  its  strings  to  the 
music,  "The  Lord  is  my  shepherd."  Sit  at  Isaiah's  feet 
and  bow  and  adore,  while  he  unveils  the  glorious  great- 
ness of  Him  "  who  weigheth  the  mountains  in  scales  and 
the  hills  in  a  balance."  Or  go  visit  Paul  in  the  chill 
prison  where  he  writes  for  his  cloak,  but  puts  forth  the 
jubilant  song  of  the  triumphant  warrior  who  has  "  fought 
the  good  fight,"  and  even  with  his  manacled  hand  is 
already  grasping  his  crown.  That  is  reading  the  Bible. 
That  is  the  work  of  the  soul  taking  wing  on  the  pinions 
of  holy  thought,  soaring  up  to  God  on  the  lofty  aspira- 
tions of  the  saints,  on  "  winged  words"  plumed  by  God's 
own  Spirit  inbreathed  into  his  own  prophets  and  apostles. 

You  may  find  good  books  if  you  seek  them — books 
that  will  cheer  you,  instruct  you,  refresh  your  spirit — 
books  that,  as  William  Wirt  once  said  of  Baxter's 
"  Saint's  Rest,"  are  "  like  a  piece  of  old  sandal  wood, 
fragrant  as  ever  after  it  has  exhaled  its  fragrance  for 


198  LIFE  LESSONS. 

centuries."  But  among  all  these  there  is  no  Bible. 
They  are  precious  indeed ;  they  are  like  the  bayous 
formed  by  the  overflowing  of  the  "  Father  of  Waters,"  for 
they  are  fed  from  the  "  River  of  Life."  They  are  buckets- 
full  drawn  from  the  well  of  truth,  but  Christ  alone  is  the 
living  fountain.  He  is  the  vine  ;  they  are  the  branches. 
Watts  may  sing  his  sweetest  songs ;  Toplady,  like  the 
dying  swan,  may  breathe  into  your  soul  the  music  of 
"  Eock  of  Ages  cleft  for  me"  ;  Doddridge  may  trace  for 
you  the  "  Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in  the  Soul,"  till 
the  feeble  germ  has  expanded  to  a  cedar  in  the  garden 
of  God,  and  Baxter,  with  his  "  Dying  Thoughts/7  may 
hold  you  spell-bound  at  the  very  gates  of  glory  or  on  the 
edge  of  the  mouth  of  the  pit — but  not  one  of  them  all 
,  can  speak  like  the  prophet  with  his  fire-touched  lips — 
can  transport  you  to  behold  Patmos  visions — can  awe 
you  with  the  blended  authority  and  grace  of  Him,  whose 
dying  agony  evoked  the  sympathy  of  the  rending  earth 
and  the  darkened  sky. 

Read  His  words.  Read  God's  utterance  through  the 
pens  of  all  the  inspired  writers.  It  is  like  the  breath 
of  spring  to  winter's  blasted  herbage.  The  soul  freshens 
and  blooms  under  it,  and  he  that  bears  the  best  and 
noblest  fruit  of  a  devoted  Christian  life  is  he  that  is 
most  devoutly  conversant  with  the  Divine  word. 


XXIV. 
'THE  LIFE  FOUNDED  ON  CHRIST. 

"  If  any  man  build  on  this  foundation." — 1  COR.  iii.  12. 

THE  Christian  life  is  presented  by  Paul  under  the 
figure  of  a  house,  the  foundation  of  which  is  laid 
in  Jesus  Christ — the  experience  of  the  truth  of  Christ  as 
our  atoning  sacrifice  and  Redeemer.  No  man  can  lay 
any  other  foundation  than  this,  that  is,  there  is  no  possi- 
ble basis  of  a  Christian  life  which  does  not  rest  in  the 
experienced  power  of  the  Gospel.  Men  may  go  and  con- 
struct a  life  of  what  are  called  "  good  works  "  without  that 
experience  which  implies  of  necessity  a  change  of  heart, 
but  if  so,  they  are  only  like  the  foolish  man,  of  whom  our 
Saviour  spoke,  who  built  his  house  upon  the  sand.  They 
have,  in  reality,  no  foundation.  They  build  on  a  mere  show 
of  one — sand  or  shadow, — and  all  their  work,  however 
costly,  however  laborious,  however  pleasing  to  the  eye,  is 
no  better  than  "  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision."  It  is  a 
mere  picture  to  look  at — made  to  perish.  The  man  that 
has  it  may  regard  it  with  much  self-complacency.  He 
may  sometimes,  like  the  Pharisee  in  the  parable,  admire 
himself  in  admiring  it.  But  it  is  mere  show  ;  it  will  be 
swept  away  and  perish. 

It  is  essential  to  a  building  that  is  to  stand  that  it  have 
a  solid  foundation.  This  is  true  of  the  structure  of  a 
Christian  life.  You  cannot  build  it  up  on  the  mud  and 

(199) 


200  LIFE  LESSONS. 

rubbish  of  an  unrenewed  nature.  Men  that  have  begun 
to  build  without  being  converted,  without  having  dug 
deeper  than  the  eye  of  man  reaches,  find,  at  last,  that 
they  might  have  as  well  ended  where  they  began.  They 
have  put  them  up  a  mere  tent  instead  of  a  house,  and 
when  the  storm  comes  they  are  buried  in  the  wreck. 
That  foundation  on  which  the  Christian  architect  builds 
is  Jesus  Christ,  that  is,  his  experience  of  Christ  as  his 
Saviour.  You  may  call  it  what  you  will,  conversion,  the 
new  birth,  repentance,  experience  of  religion,  or  some 
other  name,  the  substance  of  it  is  the  same  ;  it  is  Christ 
in  the  heart ;  Christ  the  wisdom  of  God  and  the  power 
of  God  to  salvation  ;  Christ  our  atoning  sacrifice  ;  Christ 
our  Redeemer  from  the  curse  of  the  law.  There  may  be 
moral  men,  amiable  men,  benevolent  and  charitable  men, 
who  do  not  have  this ;  but  you  cannot  call  them  Chris- 
tian men.  Their  life,  admirable  in  some  respects,  is  not 
a  Christian  life.  The  structure  they  build  may  be  a 
splendid  Pantheon  or  museum,  but  it  is  not  a  Christian 
temple.  They  have  not  the  foundation  for  it,  the  plan 
for  it.  They  may  show  skill  and  taste.  They  may  use 
labor  and  diligence,  but  the  Christian  corner-stone  is 
wanting,  and  when  the  test  hour  comes  they  will  find 
it  so. 

The  necessary  basis  for  us  on  which  to  build,  is  one 
which  implies  an  entire  change  of  ruling  purpose.  A 
man  comes  out  of  the  darkness  into  the  light.  He  sees 
himself  no  longer  an  irresponsible,  independent,  isolated 
being,  but  a  creature  and  subject  of  God.  He  sees  what 
he  was  made  for,  and  how  he  has  neglected  to  live  for  it. 
He  sees  himself  a  sinner,  with  the  prospect  of  retribution 
before  l^m — a  transgressor  of  God's  law  and  God  his 
judge, — and,  thus  enlightened,  he  finds  Christ  a  Saviour 


BUILDING  ON  CHRIST.  201 

opening  the  way  of  pardon,  pointing  him  to  heaven,  set- 
ting before  him  a  hope  full  of  immortality.  He  sees  him- 
self arraigned  before  the  judgment-seat,  without  a  refuge 
save  in  the  blood  of  the  covenant,  and  now  time  shrinks 
to  a  span,  and  eternity  spreads  out  into  an  ocean,  and  the 
infinite  littleness  of  earth  is  contrasted  with  the  infinite 
greatness  of  heaven,  and  he  begins  with  new  plans  to  live 
as  under  God's  eye,  and  as  he  directs.  He  has  found  the 
way  of  peace  and  pardon.  He  has  entered  into  a  new 
world  of  invisible  realities.  Christ  is  everything  to  him, 
life,  pardon,  hope,  fruition,  blessedness.  Christ  is  his 
Friend,  Example,  Teacher,  Redeemer,  Mediator,  Inter- 
cessor. Christ's  word  is  his  law,  and  Christ's  smile  his 
reward.  He  can  say  with  Paul,  "for  me  to  live  is 
Christ."  All  that  he  is  or  has  or  can  do,  belongs  to 
Christ.  Christ  is  his  strength,  his  refuge,  his  portion. 
.  What  a  structure  may  be  built  on  this  foundation ! 
What  noble  piles  have  some  men,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
reared  on  it — monuments  of  piety  which  have  come  down 
to  our  day,  and  before  which  we  stand  and  gaze  with  ad- 
miring wonder.  Select  out  of  all  the  cities  of  the  old 
world  the  grandest  structures  of  architectural  genius  that 
have  challenged  admiration ;  bring  together  at  a  single 
view  all  that  Thebes,  Palmyra,  Babylon,  Nineveh,  Jerusa- 
lem, Athens  or  Rome  could  exhibit  in  their  palmiest  days, 
all  that  has  combined  beauty,  and  vastness,  and  artistic 
proportion,  and  when  all  has  been  exhibited,  I  will  show 
you  something  better,  something  greater,  something  more 
admirable.  By  the  side  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  I  will 
bring  the  life  of  the  ingenious  dreamer,  the  humble  tinker 
of  Bedford,  and  in  the  life  of  Wilberforce,.  I  will  show 
you  a  loftier  art  than  graced  the  achievement  of  the 
builder  of  St.  Paul's.  The  man  that  has  built  himself  up 
9* 


202  LIFE  LESSONS. 

a  life  like  that  of  Baxter,  has  done  more  than  the  skill  of 
Sir  Christopher  Wren  ever  achieved.  When  Howard 
wrote  beneath  his  name  that  characteristic  sentence, 
"  Christ  is  my  hope/7  he  pointed  out  the  only  foundation 
on  which  a  life  like  his  can  be  built.  Let  me  pass  along 
through  the  streets  of  the  great  cities  of  the  world,  where 
splendid  piles  of  architecture  in  granite  or  in  marble 
throw  their  huge  shadows  across  my  path,  and  yet  I  shall 
feel  that  they  are  a  poor  sight,  a  meagre  achievement, 
by  the  side  of  what  meets  my  eye  when  in  my  walks  in 
humble  life,  I  see  the  forms  of  love,  and  self-denial,  and 
godly  devotion,  built  up  by  unnoted  hands  on  the  rock 
of  our  Christian  faith.  Walk  along  the  path  of  the  cen- 
turies from  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  down  to  this  pres- 
ent, and  pass  in  review  "  the  noble  army  of  martyrs,"  and 
Christian  confessors,  building  up  out  of  these  hard  years 
of  probation,  with  all  their  temptations,  hardships  and 
discouragements,  lives  of  heroic  faith,  that  have  stood,  and 
still  stand  like  pillars  of  witness,  to  tell  the  world  what 
can  be  built  on  the  Gospel  corner-stone.  Buried  in  an  ob- 
scurity that  no  antiquarian  disturbs,  and  which  will  never 
be  dispelled,  unless  God  gives  tongues  to  the  stone  walls 
of  dungeons,  or  the  rocks  of  the  wilderness,  or  the  scat- 
tered dust-atoms  of  heath,  moor  and  glen — there  are, 
waiting  a  resurrection,  biographies  of  unknown  men,  who 
in  toil,  and  hardship,  and  self-denial,  under  the  conscious- 
ness of  God's  all-beholding  eye  have  accomplished  their 
life  work,  and  left  in  the  bosom  of  their  unfrequented  val- 
leys the  memories  of  holy  faith  and  love  and  communion 
with  heaven  more  precious  and  beautiful,  if  we  should 
dig  them  out  even  in  fragments  by  our  careful  research, 
than  anything  which  buried  cities  like  Nineveh  have 
yielded  to  the  museums  of  art.  If  an  angel  could  become 


BUILDING  ON  CHRIST.  203 

a  pedestrian  on  our  planet,  we  may  well  believe  that 
while  he  might  pass  with  a  mere  glance  the  houses  and 
palaces  of  kings,  he  would  find  in  lives  that  will  have  no 
headstone  to  record  their  memory,  that,  over  which  he 
would  pore  like  Old  Mortality  cutting  out  afresh  the 
moss-grown  letters  on  the  tombstones  of  the  martyrs. 

But  much  as  we  must  admire  what,  some  of  Christ's 
disciples  have  done — much  as  we  may  wonder  at  the 
structures  of  penitence  and  self-denial  and  charity  and 
beneficence  and  holy  devotion,  that  have  been  built  by 
good  men  on  the  rock  Christ  Jesus,  who  will  say  that  all 
has  been  achieved  that  may  be  ?  Who  will  venture  to 
assert  that  there  is  not  strength  in  those  foundations  suf- 
ficient to  bear  up  manifold  more  than  ever  yet  has  been 
placed  upon  them  ?  Surely  not  these  men,  who,  after  all 
they  have  done,  lament  their  shortcomings — not  the  Pauls 
and  the  Baxters  and  the  Howes  and  the  Paysons  and  the 
Brainerds,  who  could  all  feel  their  own  deficiencies,  con- 
fessing— "  not  as  though  I  had  already  attained" — even 
while  exclaiming,  "I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ 
that  strengthened  me 1" 

And  what  may  not,  and  what  ought  not,  that  man  to 
accomplish  in  living,  who  builds  on  the  received  princi- 
ples of  the  Gospel  of  Christ — the  man  who  takes  to  his 
heart  the  great  truth  that  Jesus  saves  him  from  sin  and 
death  through  the  sacrifice  of  himself,  and  who  regard- 
ing him  as  his  example  is  impelled  by  love  and  gratitude 
and  conviction  to  strive  to  be  like  him  ?  Tell  me  if  there 
be  anything  in  the  whole  world  that  ought  to  make  a 
man  so  holy,  that  should  exert  upon  him  so  benign  an  influ- 
ence, as  what  he  finds  in  the  self-denial  and  condescen- 
sion and  purity  and  heavenliness  of  the  Son  of  God  ?  Is 
there  not  that  glory  and  radiance  in  the  face  of  this  doc- 


204  LIFE  LESSONS. 

trine  of  an  atoning  Redeemer,  that,  shining  upon  us, 
ought  to  change  us  into  the  image  of  the  heavenly  from 
glory  to  glory  ?  And  where  on  earth  will  you  go  to  find 
stronger  or  more  effective  motives  than  those  which  grow 
out  of  the  conviction  that  we  are  not  our  own,  but  are 
bought  with  a  price — motives  that  ally  eternity  with 
time  and  come  bearing  down  upon  us  with  the  force  of 
the  infinite  ?  What  ought  the  life  of  that  man  to  be  who 
feels  himself  indebted  for  being,  for  saving  grace  and 
immortal  hope,  to  the  love  of  God  in  Christ — whose  daily 
if  not  hourly  song  of  thanksgiving  is — "  He  hath  taken 
me  out  of  the  horrible  pit  and  the  miry  clay,  and  hath 
set  my  feet  upon  a  rock,  and  established  my  goings,  and 
he  hath  put  a  new  song  into  my  mouth,  even  praise  unto 
our  God." 

What  manner  of  persons  ought  ye  to  be  in  all  holy 
conversation  and  godliness, — ye  who  confess  yourselves 
to  be  indebted  for  everything  to  the  Holy  One  who  re- 
deemed you — ye  who  can  well  be  supposed  to  forget  the 
lighter  vanities  of  earth  in  view  of  that  far  more  exceed- 
ing and  eternal  weight  of  glory — ye  whose  treasures  are 
spiritual,  and  whose  hope  immortal,  and  whose  home  a 
house  not  made  with  hands ;  how  contemptible  in  your 
eyes  should  appear  all  the  mightiest  motives  of  ambition 
or  of  worldly  good,  before  the  word  and  ordinance  of 
Him  who  "  hath  the  key  of  life,  who  openeth  and  no  man 
shutteth,  and  shutteth  and  no  man  openeth  1" 

When  I  consider  the  several  doctrines,  the  reception 
and  adoption  of  which  are  implied  in  a  Christian  pro- 
fession— our  fall  by  nature — our  state  of  condemnation 
under  the  law,  the  infinite  greatness  and  holiness  of  our 
Sovereign,  whom  we  have  disobeyed — the  wonderful  con- 
descension of  Christ — his  atonement  for  the  sins  of  nien, 


BUILDING  ON  CHRIST.  205 

the  complete  justification  that  attends  faith  in  his  finished 
work — the  hope  and  peace  that  flow  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  submission  in  everything  to  the  divine  will — the 
immortal  portion  of  the  believer  in  the  kingdom  of  God, 
after  he  has  been  judged  and  been  declared  "  accepted  in 
the  Beloved" — when  I  consider  these  several  doctrines 
in  their  grandeur  and  the  mutual  relation  they  bear  to 
one  another,  all  having  an  evident  reference  and  adapta- 
tion to  the  death  of  Christ,  I  seem  to  see  them  all  like 
so  many  huge  foundation  stones  resting  upon  and  fitted 
to  one  another,  and  all  connected  with  the  chief  corner- 
stone, and  I  feel  that  he  who  would  build  upon  them  in 
justice  to  their  true  proportions,  will  rear  such  a  struc- 
ture of  religious  doing  and  enduring,  of  heavenly-minded 
beneficence,  and  of  saintly  purity  and  love,  as  can  find 
nothing  but  the  merest  and  feeblest  symbol  of  it  in  all 
the  shapes  of  beauty  and  of  grandeur  into  which  the 
marble  has  been  piled,  and  I  feel  that  no  architect,  of 
however  exalted  a  name,  can  be  compared  for  a  single 
moment  with  him  who  in  the  humbleness  of  the  obscurest 
lot — true  to  the  plan  of  his  great  Teacher — cuts  the  years 
of  his  probation  into  living  stones  that  will  but  shine  in 
a  brighter  and  more  lasting  beauty,  when  the  fires  of  the 
last  conflagration  shall  have  helped  Time  to  do  his  work 
of  destruction  on  the  crumbling  palaces  of  the  kings  and 
the  nobles  of  the  earth* 

Can  you  conceive  of  a  nobler  ideal  than  is  set  before 
you  in  the  life  to  which  the  doctrines  of  Christ  as  our 
Redeemer  point  the  way — and  can  you  wish  for  yourself 
anything  better,  or  more  blessed,  than  to  realize  that 
ideal,  so  that  your  life  shall  stand  out  at  last  in  the  full 
and  finished  proportions  of  a  temple — ever  resounding 
with  praise — ever  sanctified  by  the  indwelling  of  the 


2o6  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Shekinah  of  the  divine  presence — bearing  the  imprint  of 
consecrated  purpose  upon  every  fragment  even  to  the 
topstone  laid  with  shoutings  of  "  grace,  grace  unto  it  ?" 

When  I  hear  men  talk  in  the  pride  of  human  reason, 
and  under  the  guise  of  a  human  philosophy  concerning  a 
perfect  manhood,  I  cannot  but  revert  to  the  better  philos- 
ophy of  the  Christian  system,  for  I  find  there  the  only 
true  and  proper  basis  on  which  that  perfect  manhood  can 
rest ;  I  find  there  the  only  power  that  can  use  the  Ar- 
chimedes lever  of  morals,  and  lift  man  out  of  the  mud 
and  slough  of  his  native  corruption  and  set  him  on  the 
solid  foundation,  the  rock  Christ  Jesus.  I  know  that  the 
motives  of  the  Gospel  have  done  and  can  do  this,  and  I 
know  by  the  testimony  of  holy  men,  as  well  as  from  their 
direct  tendency  and  efficiency,  that  their  power  is  not 
exhausted.  What  they  have  done,  that  they  can  do,  and 
more.  Time  holds  in  her  repository  of  the  future  more 
perfect  types  of  a  sanctified  humanity,  perhaps,  than  any 
she  has  yet  shown  us.  If  nature  has  not  exhausted  her- 
self of  all  her  Sir  Christopher  Wrens  and  Michael  An- 
gelos,  grace  may,  we  will  hope,  yet  present  us  with  other 
Howes  and  Bunyans,  other  Dwights  and  Paysons — men 
that  shall  rise  to  a  saintlier  greatness  while  they  rest  on 
the  Rock  of  Ages.  And  should  you  not  be  among  them  ? 

But  let  us  consider  what  sort  of  use  is  made  of  this 
incomparable  foundation.  All  isorts  of  structures  are 
built  upon  it — "  gold,  silver,  precious  stones,  hay,  wood, 
stubble."  You  have  only  to  glance  at  the  Christian 
world  to  see  what  this  means.  Some  use  this  foundation 
well,  others  ill.  Among  the  multitudes  truly  converted, 
as  we  have  reason  to  believe,  there  are  great  diversities 
of  character.  Some  go  on  toward  perfection,  while  others 
stop  short  and  never  seem  to  advance  in  the  Christian  life. 


BUILDING  ON  CHRIST. 


207 


There  are  some  who  build  with  worthless  material, 
and  in  a  most  clumsy  and  unworkmanlike  manner.  If 
they  use  anything,  it  is  the  hay,  wood  and  stubble.  They 
throw  upon  this  foundation  all  sorts  of  rubbish  and  be- 
come the  architects  of  confusion  and  ruin,  rather  than  of 
order.  Their  lives,  if  you  examine  them  with  a  Christian 
scrutiny,  are  piles  of  loose  material,  without  fashioning 
or  fitting  of  part  to  part.  You  could  not  select  a  word 
more  aptly  expressive,  as  applied  to  them,  than  stubble. 
They  contribute  nothing  to  what  should  be  the  structure 
of  a  Christian  life,  but  refuse  material,  straw  and  chaif 
that  can  be  shaped  to  no  useful  end.  What  would  you 
think  of  a  carpenter  who  should  go  out  into  the  harvest 
field,  instead  of  the  forest  and  the  quarry,  and  glean  up 
the  trampled  straw  to  fashion  it  into  a  building  ?  You 
would  pronounce  him  mad.  You  would  call  it  trifling 
and  mockery  ;  and  so  it  would  be.  A  spark  of  fire  fall- 
ing on  his  gathered  rubbish  would  set  it  on  fire,  and  turn 
it  to  ashes.  But  if  that  was  spared — imagine  him  with 
saw  and  chisel  attempting  to  put  the  material  together. 
His  foundation  is  furnished  him  and  he  will  make  a  stub- 
ble palace.  The  very  idea  is  absurd  ;  but  not  more  ab- 
surd than  the  course  of  some,  who  profess  to  live  for  God 
— to  shape  their  life  into  a  structure  of  holy  devotion, 
yet  only  scrape  together  a  mass  of  straw  and  chaif.  It 
is  obvious  that  their  profession — as  to  the  breadth  of 
it — is  a  mistake.  They  are  largely  after  the  world. 
Their  ambition  is  to  accumulate  so  much  property,  repre- 
sented by  such  and  such  pieces  of  paper — in  other  words, 
stubble.  All  their  energies  are  tasked  and  devoted  to 
the  accumulation  of  wealth.  Let  us  conceive  of  them  at 
the  close  of  their  career.  Their  probation  is  ended. 
Their  life's  work  is  finished.  The  structure  of  their  toil 


2o8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

is  complete,  and  what  is  it?  A  heap  of  incongruous, 
chaffy,  worthless  material !  On  a  Christian  foundation 
they  have  built  up  a  worldly  life.  Yain  and  unworthy 
aims  have  intermingled  witli  it.  To  be  rich  or  envied  or 
honored  of  men — to  enjoy  the  pleasures  or  indulge  in  the 
fashions  of  the  world,  has  absorbed  their  efforts.  Day 
after  day  they  have  seemed  to  forget  that  they  were  con- 
secrated architects.  You  might  imagine  that  their  high- 
est aim  was  to  gather  straw  like  the  Israelites  in  Egypt 
to  make  brick.  Men  look  at  them  as  patterns  not  of 
Christian  living  but  of  industry  and  business  tact.  They 
admire  their  skill,  not  their  devotion.  They  quote  them 
as  authority  in  trade,  not  in  religion.  It  is  possible  that 
even  this  may  be  too  favorable  a  judgment.  They  may 
be  more  intent  on  ease  and  luxury  and  pleasure  than  on 
industry  and  exertion.  Now  what  will  be  their  view  of 
themselves  when  they  come  to  die  ?  In  that  honest  hour 
how  will  they  estimate  what  they  have  sought  to  accom- 
plish ?  It  is  sad  and  mortifying  to  consider.  Will  they 
not  wish  that  the  last  years  of  their  life  had  been  denied 
them — that  they  had  been  taken  out  of  the  world  be- 
fore they  had  dishonored  their  profession  by  heaping  on 
it  all  sorts  of  vanity  and  confusion  ?  Will  they  not  be 
constrained  to  feel,  if  they  do  not  say,  like  a  celebrated 
French  marshal,  "  My  life  has  been  a  failure  ?" 

And  now  shall  I  give  you  the  image  of  such  a  life  ? — 
a  life  that  we  will  suppose  has  at  some  time  or  other  felt 
the  powers  of  the  life  to  come  ?  Paul  has  done  it  for 
you.  It  is  a  foundation  of  rock  covered  with  stubble — • 
and  so  covered  that  perhaps  it  would  require  some  labor 
to  clear  away  the  rubbish  and  let  men  see  what  lies  be- 
neath. Am  I  severe  in  this?  No  more  so  than  the 
Apostle — not  half  so  severe  as  the  unfortunate  builders 


BUILDING  ON  CHRIST. 


209 


are  on  themselves.  You  would  shudder  to  hear  the  sen- 
tence which  they  have  sometimes  pronounced  on  their 
own  life.  With  all  their  years  of  skill  and  toil  they  have 
only  labored  to  cover  up  with  chaff  and  all  sorts  of  un- 
worthy things  the  only  precious  tiling  they  had — the 
experience  of  the  grace  of  God. 

But  let  us  turn  to  others.  Pew  will  say,  "  I  have  done 
all  I  could.  I  have  made  of  my  life  all  that  could  have 
been  made  of  it."  The  best  men  shrink  from  this.  Those 
who  do  not,  create  strong  suspicion  that  they  do  not 
know  themselves.  Still  there  are  those  whose  lives  are 
precious — Time's  richest  jewels.  They  are  gold,  silver, 
precious  stones.  In  attempting  to  express  the  value  of  a 
truly  faithful  Christian  life,  words  fail  me.  I  know  of 
no  expressions  worthy  of  those  that  are  gems  in  the  Ee- 
deemer's  crown,  and  having  turned  many  to  righteousness 
shall  shine  as  the  stars  forever  and  ever.  Take  some 
humble  private  individual  like  Harlan  Page,  noiselessly 
pursuing  his  career  of  unostentatious  Christian  action — 
full  of  faith  and  prayer — ever  studious  of  saving  souls 
— dropping  a  word  here  or  there  like  a  harvest  seed — 
studying  opportunities — sparing  no  effort — tasking  every 
energy  for  his  Master — and  when  his  last  work  on  earth 
is  done,  when  his  last  word  is  spoken,  and  his  last  prayer 
uttered,  in  the  ripeness  and  symmetry  of  a  perfected 
Christian  character  going  home  to  the  reward  of  his 
Master's  smile — and  tell  me  if  gold  or  silver  or  any  of  the 
precious  things  of  earth  are  fit  symbols  of  its  unspeakable 
worth,  of  its  untold  blessings  ?  You  might  divide  it  up 
into  infinitesimal  fractions,  and  every  one  of  these  frac- 
tions would  be  of  greater  positive  value  than  the  lives 
of  some  men  of  world- wide  fame — and  some  who  profess 
to  be  Christian  disciples. 


210  LIFE  LESSONS. 

There  are  again  some  lives  that  are,  if  we  may  say  so, 
valuable  and  worthless  at  the  same  time,  and,  like  credi- 
tor and  debtor  pages,  balance  off  one  another.  Some 
men  from  lack  of  discretion,  or  from  uncontrolled  im- 
pulse, undo  at  one  time  what  they  do  at  another.  A  man 
may  engage  with  great  zeal  in  the  work  of  God  in  a  time 
of  revival,  only  to  borrow  an  authority  and  influence  for 
his  irreligious,  or  at  least  worldly  example,  afterward. 
You  can  quote  him  on  both  sides  of  the  same  question. 
It  is  like  light  and  darkness  commingled.  His  life  is  a 
dim  twilight  in  fact — for  night  and  day  meet  together  in 
him.  One  rash  act,  or  a  series  of  such,  counteracts  all 
his  better  effort.  He  is  at  last  but  a  cypher — not  always 
on  the  right  side  at  that.  There  are  some  men  of  this 
stamp  that  we  should  rather  pity  than  harshly  rebuke. 
The  fault  seems  rooted  in  their  constitution.  Their 
character  is,  like  a  ship  under  sail,  impelled  by  a  breath, 
or  like  an  immense  mass  of  rock,  such  as  you  may  have 
read  of,  poised  by  nature  so  delicately  that  a  child's  hand 
could  set  it  in  motion.  Still  it  is  a  man's  duty,  in  spite 
of  the  flaws  and  crooks  and  contortions  of  nature,  to 
yield  to  the  power  of  grace — to  control  himself  and  be 
consistent  at  least,  if  not  discreet.  And  still  how  often 
on  the  mind  of  others  will  some  act  of  a  Christian  pro- 
fessor counteract  all  the  good  influence  he  has  ever  ex- 
erted before !  His  extravagance  of  dress,  perhaps,  is  an 
outward  denial  of  his  former  words — a  visible  symbol 
of  a  false  heart.  His  gay,  vain,  trifling  manner  seems 
to  say — •"  My  profession  of  being  serious  is  a  jest  too.7' 
His  conversation  and  prayers — his  conduct  and  profes- 
sion look  two  different  ways.  His  taste  for  worldly 
pleasures  seems  to  say — "There  are  no  joys  at  God's 
right  hand  " — his  thirst  for  gain — "  There  are  no  trea- 


BUILDING   ON  CHRIST.  211 

sures  in  heaven."  His  readiness  to  judge  others  harshly — 
"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  judged  by  the  measure  I  mete," 
his  readiness  to  take  advantages  unwarranted  by  fair 
dealing — "  The  rule  is  absurd  of  doing  to  others  as  you 
would  have  them  do  to  you."  Now  if  in  such  a  life  you 
discover  only  a  spasmodic  piety — a  sort  of  galvanic  dis- 
tortion of  muscles  instead  of  healthy  action — you  must 
not  be  surprised.  There  is  life  enough  to  be  galvanized — 
not  enough  to  act. 

Hence  it  is  that  you  may  find  the  Church  of  Christ 
itself  so  various  and  diversified — gold,  silver,  precious 
stones — hay,  wood,  stubble.  Walk  through  the  streets 
of  a  great  city,  and  you  will  see  the  diversified  character 
of  its  dwellings  representing  the  diversified  phases  of 
Christian  life.  Some  are  palaces,  some  are  hovels.  Some 
are  built  of  stone — some  are  mere  tinder.  Some  excite 
your  admiration,  others  your  aversion,  if  not  disgust. 
Perhaps  you  will  say  it  must  be  so.  But  why?  Here  is 
the  foundation  on  the  Eternal  rock.  Why  not  build 
upon  it  that  which  shall  endure  ? 

But  the  matter  is  not  merely  speculative.  We  are 
builders,  all  of  us.  Some  have  this  foundation — some 
not.  If  you  are  building  without  it,  all  you  build  is 
sure  to  perish,  and  your  own  soul  will  be  buried  in  the 
ruins.  Is  it  not  time  to  know  on  what  you  build — 
whether  you  have  yet  experienced  on  your  heart  the 
power  of  the  Gospel — whether  your  soul  has  been  con- 
secrated to  God  and  His  service  ?  How  sad  the  thought 
that  you  have  only  lived  to  destroy  your  immortal  hope — 
that  you  have  enjoyed  a  probation  only  to  be  proved  a 
reprobate — built  up  a  structure  of  irreligion  which  shall 
fall  upon  your  head  and  crush  you  to  despair !  There 
is  no  other  foundation  to  build  on  than  the  rock  Christ 


212  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Jesus.  Everything  else  is  sand  or  rnire.  Scheme  out 
your  life  of  pleasure — it  is  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision. 
If  you  know  not  what  it  is  to  feel  the  power  of  the  Gospel 
in  changing  your  own  heart — you  are  living  to  no  good 
purpose — you  are  wasting — infinitely  worse  than  wasting 
— all  your  toil. 

But  suppose  you  have  the  foundation.  You  have  been 
converted  to  God.  You  know  what  it  is  to  have  passed 
from  death  unto  life.  What  are  you  doing  now?  What 
are  you  building  on  this  foundation — what  have  you  built 
already?  Have  you  followed  the  plans  of  the  Great 
Architect?  Are  you  building  for  eternity?  Are  you 
gathering  and  rearing  an  edifice  of  durable  material? 
What  will  remain  of  your  work  when  life  is  over  ?  The 
man  that  does  his  work  as  a  Christian,  will  rear  that 
which  can  never  perish.  Worldly  men  scratch  their 
names  on  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore,  and  the  next  wave 
washes  out  what  they  have  done.  But  if  you  perfect  your 
own  soul  in  righteousness — if  you  live  a  life  of  devotion 
and  prayer — if  you  leave  the  impress  of  a  hallowed  in- 
fluence on  the  minds  of  others,  your  work  will  endure. 
The  fires  of  the  last  day  will  not  consume  it.  It  will 
attest  in  the  judgment  your  fidelity  to  your  Master. 

But  if  it  be  otherwise — even  if  your  own  soul  is  saved, 
which  is  barely  possible,  your  work  will  perish.  You 
will  see  it  all  melt  away  and  vanish.  It  will  consume 
like  the  stubble.  It  will  be  a  pile  of  ashes.  The  winds 
will  scatter  and  drift  it  away.  And  where  will  you  be — 
if  saved,  yet  saved  so  as  by  fire — like  a  man  escaping 
from  the  flames  and  leaving  all  behind  ? 

Remember  what  a  firm  and  noble  foundation  is  yours. 
It  is  the  Rock  of  Ages.  It  will  sustain  a  devoted,  faith- 
ful life.  Let  your  career,  then,  be  worthy  of  it. 


XXV. 

THE  LIVING  TEMPLE. 

"  Ye  are  the  temple  of  God."— 1  COB.  iii.  16. 

ONE  of  the  finest  passages  in  the  writings  of  that 
grand  old  Puritan,  John  Howe,  is  the  one  in  which 
he  describes  the  desolating,  ruining  effect  of  sin  upon  the 
soul  of  man,  which  he  compares  to  the  unsightly  remains 
of  a  decayed  and  neglected  temple.  It  was  destined  to 
a  noble  use— the  worship  and  service  of  the  Most  High. 
But  it  has  become  desecrated  and  polluted.  Even  in  its 
ruins,  however,  something  of  its  old  grandeur  clings  to 
its  crumbling  walls  and  its  fallen  pillars.  "  The  stately 
ruins  are  visible  to  every  eye,  that  bear  in  their  front 
(yet  extant)  this  doleful  inscription — HERE  GOD  ONCE 
DWELT.  Enough  appears  of  the  admirable  frame  and 
structure  of  the  soul  of  man  to  show  the  divine  presence 
did  sometime  reside  in  it ;  more  than  enough  of  vicious 
depravity,  to  proclaim  he  is  now  retired  and  gone." 

What  thoughtful  mind  does  not  feel  the  truth  of  this  ? 
The  soul  of  man  is  the  most  wonderful  of  all  God's 
works.  It  was  intended  for  his  special  service,  and  was 
made  the  object  of  his  special  favor.  It  has  become  pol- 
luted and  desolate,  and  the  object  of  Christ  and  of  the 
Gospel  is  to  purify  it  again  for  himself. 

The  soul  of  man  is  the  most  wonderful  and  admirable 
of  God's  works. 

(213) 


214 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


Which  is  greatest,  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  or  its  archi- 
tect— St.  Peter's,  or  the  genius  of  Michael  Angelo  that 
spanned  its  lofty  dome  ?  There  are  human  works  that 
hold  us  spell-bound  by  their  beauty  or  their  grandeur 
while  we  gaze  upon  them.  What  must  Solomon's  temple 
have  been,  which  a  Roman  emperor  strove  to  save  from 
the  flaming  torch  ?  What  is  the  Taj  of  India  with  its 
massive  walls,  its  stainless  marble,  and  its  grand  propor- 
tions ?  Yet  these  are  all  inferior  to  the  architect's  ideal. 
In  his  own  mind  are  thoughts  greater  than  can  be  hewn 
or  piled  in  stone. 

The  painter,  the  sculptor,  each  produces  works  which 
entrance  us  almost.  They  are  called  "masterpieces." 
But  what  is  the  confession  of  their  authors  ?  The  rude 
stone  is  not  plastic  enough  to  yield  back  the  pattern  of 
their  nobler  thought.  The  mind,  the  mind  is  greater 
than  all. 

But  what  are  human  works  to  God's  works  ?  *  What 
are  the  pillars  of  Karnac  and  Luxor  to  the  pillars  of  the 
mountains  ?  What  is  the  painting  of  the  ocean  in  storms 
to  the  grand  original  ?  What  is  a  sun  on  the  canvass  to 
a  sun  in  the  heavens?  What  is  the  cannon's  roar  to 
God's  thunders  and  earthquakes  ?  Without  lifting  our 
eyes  to  the  broad  heavens  or  surveying  the  lofty  and 
overpowering  proportions  of  nature's  great  temple,  this 
earth  we  tread,  with  its  rivers  and  lakes,  its  cliffs  and 
mountains,  pours  contempt  on  temples,  and  palaces,  and 
pyramids,  and  Chinese  walls. 

But  the  soul  of  man  rises  sublime  above  all  these.  It 
weighs  the  globe  as  it  were  in  scales.  It  soars  to  im- 
mensity. It  travels  back  to  an  eternity  past,  or  antici- 
pates an  eternity  to  come.  It  glows  with  love,  or  burns 
with  lofty  passion.  Its  spiritual  history  is  the  romance 


THE  LIVING  TEMPLE. 


215 


of  creation,  before  which  the  story  of  land  or  sea,  of 
monsters  or  earthquakes  grows  tame ;  and  even  in 
thought  it  stands  on  the  ashes  of  a  cindered  globe,  ex- 
ultant in  a  destiny  that  has  just  begun  when  worlds 
have  ceased  to  be.  It  is  grander  than  the  mountains, 
richer  than  the  mine,  brighter  than  the  jewel,  and 
more  glorious,  when  consecrated  to  its  true  end,  than 
all  the  array  of  suns  and  stars.  It  is  the  crown  of 
creative  might.  It  is  "the  jewel  in  the  ring  of  the 
world."  It  is  the  picture  for  which  the  wealth  of 
Croesus,  the  power  of  Caesar  and  the  splendors  of  empire 
can  furnish  no  fitting  frame.  Even  with  all  these,  it  may 
well  seem  like  a  gem  set  in  clay.  When  its  true  worth 
is  developed,  it  pours  contempt  on  them  all. 

Without  man,  without  the  human  soul,  what  is  this 
globe,  but  a  mere  curiosity  of  creative  might  ?  It  is  upon 
the  soul  that  the  very  wealth  of  infinite  wisdom,  power 
and  love  seems  lavishly  poured  out. 

But  the  soul  was  intended  for  God's  special  service, 
and  as  the  object  of  his  special  favor.    No  one  can  doubt  '. 
it.     The  proof  is  in  its  constitution  and  workmanship.   I 
He  evidently  designed  it  to  be  what  it  is  capable  of   ' 
being.     And  what  is  that  ?     Who  can  tell  ?     When  you 
see  a  persecuting  Saul  become  the  Apostle  Paul,  and  hear 
from  his  saintly  lips,  amid  prison  glooms  and  rigors  the 
language  of  angelic  triumph  ;  when  you  find  the  gentle- 
ness of  the  beloved  John  ripening  into  a  heavenliness  of 
tone  and  feeling,  and  hope  and  joy,  till  it  seems  scarcely 
strange  that  his  Patmos  Vision  should  become  a  daily 
experience  ;  when  you  find  a  plain  man  like  John  How- 
ard, by  the  power  of  consecrated  charity  transformed 
into  an  angel  of  mercy,  so  that  amid  the  foul  air  of  jails 
he  seems  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  in  which  angels 


216  LIFE  LESSONS. 

sing ;  when  you  find  even  commonplace  gifts  and  a  com- 
monplace lot  transfigured  into  the  means  and  features  of 
an  earthly  paradise  by  the  presence,  and  prayer,  and  de- 
votion of  a  spirit  that  lias  bowed  at  the  cross  ;  when  you 
see  the  lowliest  of  mortals,  a  servant,  or  I  had  almost 
said  a  drudge,  bearing  about  with  him  in  his  daily  petty 
duties  so  much  of  heaven,  that  the  greatest  and  wisest — 
like  Archbishop  Seeker — on  a  dying  bed  send  for  him, 
that  on  the  fervor  of  his  petition  the  departing  spirit  may 
be  borne  as  it  were  up  to  the  throne  ;  who  dare  say  to 
what  any  one,  even  the  humblest  may  not  attain  ;  what 
virtues  may  not  chrystallize  into  a  crown  for  his  brow, 
what  riches  of  reverence,  and  love,  and  unbought  honor 
shall  not  embalm  his  memory  ? 

Yet  all  this  is  only  to  what  fallen  man,  by  the 
grace  of  God  attains !  Did  God  create  the  soul  with- 
out designing  this  ?  Did  He  make  it  capable  of  being 
a  "  king  and  priest  unto  himself "  when  He  only  meant  it 
to  drag  a  muck-rake  and  gather  straw  ?  Did  He  endow 
it  with  affections  that  can  soar  to  heaven,  when  He 
meant  it  should  scratch  the  dust  and  pick  at  crumbs  ? 

No !  The  soul  of  man  was  meant  for  all  that  it  is 
capable  of  being.  And  its  highest  end — by  the  side  of 
which  that  of  imperial  aspirants  is  but  the  ambition  of 
an  ant-hill — is  to  glorify  God  and  to  enjoy  Him  forever. 
The  soul  is  to  be  yielded  up  to  God,  that  His  will  may 
work  in  it  and  through  it.  It  is  to  be  plastic  to  the 
great  purpose  for  which  He  made  it.  In  a  word,  it  is  to 
be  holy  as  He  is  holy ;  it  is  to  be  His  consecrated,  His 
living  temple — His  sacred  name  inscribed  on  its  portal- 
all  the  wealth  of  time  and  probation  a  willing  sacrifice 
upon  its  altar. 

And  how  consonant  and  accordant  is  this  with  the 


THE  LIVING  TEMPLE.  217 

majesty  of  God  and  the  blessedness  of  man !  A  living 
temple!  A  human  spirit  within  which  the  Eternal  Spirit 
condescending  will  deign  to  dwell  1 

But  is  this  the  state  of  man's  heart  by  nature  ?  Has 
the  soul  been  kept  pure  and  unsullied  ?  Who  does  not 
know  that  it  has  been  polluted  and  profaned  ?  Stand  as 
it  were  by  the  door  of  your  heart  and  watch  what  goes 
in  and  out  ?  What  are  your  thoughts  by  day  and  your 
dreams  by  night?  Are  they  of  heaven  or  of  earth? 
Are  they  pure  and  self-denying  or  worldly  and  selfish  ? 
Do  they  chime  together  in  one  chorus  of  praise  to  God, 
or  are  they  discordant  and  inharmonious  ?  Are  they  of 
the  altar  or  the  market ;  of  duty  or  of  pleasure,  of  Christ 
or  of  self? 

On  the  answer  to  these  questions  the  verdict  of  your 
treatment  of  what  God  made  and  designed  as  His  own 
temple — holier,  more  precious  than  human  hands  ever 
reared — depends.  Have  you  filled  it  with  the  tables  of 
the  money  changers?  Is  the  voice  of  your  thoughts 
rather  the  bleating  of  flocks  than  the  anthem  of  praise — 
the  jingling  of  coin  than  the  voice  of  prayer  ? 

Who  is  there  among  us  all — where  is  the  most  devoted 
Christian  that  is  not  forced  to  confess  to  his  own  shame, 
that  this  spiritual  temple  has  been  polluted  by  the  pre- 
sence within  it  of  that  which  is  unholy  and  impure — 
thoughts  that  he  cannot  approve,  passions  that  he  cannot 
justify,  and  yet  for  which  he  is  responsible?  It  is  a 
humbling  confession.  Has  he  betrayed  his  trust  ?  Has 
he,  the  guardian  of  that  temple,  allowed  it  to  be  dese- 
crated ?  Has  he  surrendered  it  to  the  foul  hoofs  of  sen- 
sual and  worldly  things,  till  the  sacred  presence  is  ex- 
cluded, and  the  great  inhabitant,  the  Holy  Spirit,  has 
withdrawn  ? 
10 


218  LIFE  LESSONS. 

It  was  accounted  even  by  heathens  a  crime  of  special 
enormity  to  desecrate  a  temple.  They  called  it  sacrilege. 
And  what  is  sin,  intruding  by  your  own  act  into  the  tem- 
ple of  your  soul,  denying  its  altar  the  sacrifice  of  a  con- 
trite heart — but  just  sacrilege  ?  There  is  a  temple  God 
reared  for  Himself.  And  have  you  installed  Mammon 
within  it  ? 

There  are,  doubtless,  some  hearts  eminent  for  profana- , 
tion.  They  are  dens  of  malicious  and  murderous  thoughts.) 
Lust,  and  passion,  and  appetite,  and  reckless,  Heaven-daring 
defiance,  all  are  there.  Avarice,  and  selfishness,  and  gloat-  \ 
ing  revenge  are  combined  there  in  infernal  league.  You  , 
feel  as  you  approach  them  that  you  are  on  the  borders 
of  Pandemonium.  How  far  does  a  Herod,  or  a  Nero,  or 
a  Jeffries,  fall  short  of  being  a  hell  incarnate  ?  We  re- 
gard with  a  shudder  such  monstrosities  of  depravity. 
We  feel  that  in  "the  lowest  deep"  we  have  found  "a  deep 
still  lower."  And  then  how  startling  the  thought  that 
sin-polluted  shrines,  to  which  the  scenes  of  Bacchanalian 
orgies  might  sometimes  seem  almost  like  vestal  purity, 
were  designed  for  a  hallowed  service,  were  meant  as 
temples  of  the  Holy  Ghost ! 

It  is  true  there  are  lesser  degrees  of  depravity,  but  the 
least  of  them  all  is  a  profanation.  A  sinful  thought  is 
a  sacrilegious  intruder.  A  selfish  aim  cannot  rank  above 
a  money-changer.  An  idle  fancy  is  a  trifier  in  that  sanc- 
tuary, where  every  thought,  and  imagination,  and  emotion 
of  the  heart  should  bow  down  and  adore. 

Alas  for  man !  He  has  become  like  the  temple  of  Je- 
rusalem when  Christ  entered  it.  Unhallowed  passions 
nestle  there.  The  greed  of  gain  has  displaced  devotion, 
and  all  the  activity  of  the  intellect  and  will,  is  often  only 
to  disobey  his  Maker. 


THE  LIVING  TEMPLE. 


219 


But  the  object  of  the  Gospel  is  to  cleanse  and  restore 
and  re- consecrate  it  to  its  proper,  its  hallowed  service. 
See  the  ruin,  and  see  at  what  cost  the  provision  to  re- 
store it  is  made !  What  will  effect  flie  result  ?  Nothing 
short  of  the  means  which  God  has  devised.  It  is  the 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  that  cleanseth  from  all  si'n.  Noth- 
ing else  does  or  can.  It  is  the  Spirit  of  God  that  re- 
news the  heart.  None  but  a  divine  might  can  rear  again 
the  pillars  of  resolve,  and  restore  the  purity  of  affection. 
Have  you  called  for  help?  Have  you  applied  to  the 
blood  of  cleansing  ?  Have  you  opened  your  eyes  to  the 
greatness  of  the  work?  Have  you  aroused  yourself  to  the 
urgency  of  the  pressing,  solemn  duty  ?  It  is  that  work 
without  which  no  other  work  is  of  any  avail.  It  is  in 
vain  to  cultivate  taste  or  science.  How  worthless  to 
wreathe  crumbled  ruins  with  the  twining  ivy,  or  over- 
spread them  with  venerable  moss,  while  on  the  desecra- 
ted altar  within  no  sacrifice  is  laid,  and  through  the 
hollow  vaults  echoes  no  anthem  of  praise,  no  note  of 
prayer ! 

Christ  comes  to  your  heart  to-day.  He  bids  you  fit  it 
for  His  reception,  for  He  would  come  in  and  dwell  there. 
It  is  His  Father's  house.  It  is  a  temple  of  the  Most 
High.  You  are  its  high  priest,  to  offer  within  it  sacri- 
fices of  praise.  Will  you  devote  it  to  the  traffic  of  mam- 
mon and  to  the  revels  of  sin  ? 


XXVI. 

LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN. 

11  The  thiugs  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal." — 2  COB.  iv.  18. 

MAN  occupies  a  middle  point  between  two  worlds, 
the  seen  and  the  unseen.  He  is  himself  united  to 
each  and  compounded  of  both.  He  is  body  and  soul, 
matter  and  spirit.  On  one  side  of  him  are  material 
things,  on  the  other,  spiritual.  He  stands  on  the  earth 
yet  may  commune  with  heaven.  His  body  allies  him  to 
the  worm,  his  spirit  to  the  angel.  He  is  a  link  between 
the  visible  and  the  invisible,  the  earthly  and  the  heavenly. 
Hence,  almost  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  he  lives  in  two 
worlds,  sometimes  inclining  more  to  one  and  sometimes 
to  the  other.  But  something,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  has 
to  do  with  both.  The  most  perfect  materialist  that  ever 
lived,  the  veriest  miser  whose  heart  was  ever  cankered 
by  his  gold,  the  bold  boasting  disbeliever  in  all  spiritual 
realities,  lives  more  or  less  in  the  realm  of  the  invisible. 
A  man's  own  soul  will  be  a  world  in  itself,  a  world  of 
unseen  things,  of  thoughts  and  fancies,  of  hopes  and  fears, 
of  speculations  and  anxieties,  of  schemes  and  cares ;  a 
world  of  light  and  shade,  of  day  and  night,  of  clouds  and 
sunshine,  of  storm  and  calm,  of  bald  mountains  and  quiet 
valleys  ;  a  world  that  would  still  exist  to  the  soul  though 
the  whole  outward  and  material  universe  were  dissolved  ; 
a  world  which  is  far  more  real,  important,  enduring,  in- 
fluential for  good  or  evil  than  the  globe  itself  with  all 

(220) 


LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN.  221 

that  it  contains.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Stop  a  man's  ears,  shut 
him  up  in  total  darkness,  and  into  his  prison,  or  into  his 
voiceless  solitude,  he  carries  with  him  in  his  soul  a  world 
echoing  with  ten  thousand  voices,  and  bright  or  dark 
with  ten  thousand  scenes  of  no  material  landscape.  He 
sees  no  star-roofed  vault  above  him,  but  his  soul  makes 
its  own  firmament ;  he  hears  no  human  utterance,  but  his 
soul  listens  to  speech  from  the  invisible  and  immaterial. 
If  he  is  a  Herod,  he  will  have  the  hell  of  his  own 
thoughts  around  him.  If  a  Stephen,  he  will  gaze  up 
even  with  sightless  eyeballs  into  an  opening  heaven. 

Now,  there  is  an  infinite  wisdom  in  that  order  of 
Providence  which  brings  us  into  relations  with  two  worlds 
at  once.  We  are  connected  with  matter  in  such  a  way 
that  we  may  gain"  and  gather  out  of  material  things  their 
spiritual  significance,  and  use  them  as  helps  by  which  to 
climb  up  to  a  region  of  spiritual  attainment.  We  begin 
an  immortal  existence  in  the  use  and  possession  of  a  bod- 
ily frame,  and  we  keep  it  just  long  enough  for  us,  by 
means  of  it,  to  come  in  contact  with  the  spiritual  truths, 
and  laws,  and  relations  that  it  is  most  essential  for  us  to 
know.  Sensible  things  are  emblems  out  of  which  the  soul 
reads  a  meaning,  because  in  God's  plan  they  are  figures  and 
diagrams  by  which  we  solve  life's  problems,  the  visible 
things  by  which  the  invisible  are  demonstrated  or  ex- 
plained. The  body  is  a  sort  of  scaffolding  by  the  aid  of 
which  we  build  up  our  own  spiritual  structure,  and  when 
character  is  complete,  and  the  soul  is  reared  to  the  ma- 
turity of  its  stature,  the  scaffolding  is  thrown  down,  the 
body  crumbles  away,  and  the  soul,  built  up  and  furnished 
for  eternity,  stands  complete  and  forever  independent  of 
the  instrumentalities  by  which  it  was  reared. 

Such  is  the  use  of  the  body,  such  the  intent  of  the  Ore- 


222  LIFE  LESSONS. 

ator  undoubtedly  in  linking  us  to  the  clay.  Things  that 
are  seen,  that  are  material,  are  a  kind  of  footstool  on 
which  we  may  stand  to  reach  up  higher  toward  another 
world,  a  ladder  to  climb  by,  alphabet  blocks  of  wood  by 
the  study  of  which  we  learn  to  spell  out  the  laws  and  phi- 
losophy of  God,  cuts  and  diagrams  to  illustrate  to  the 
spirit's  capacity  the  methods  of  providence  and  the  les- 
sons of  life.  Thus  viewed,  the  body,  the  world  and  all 
sensible  things,  have  their  sphere — and  a  wise  one, — 
and  so  they  ought  to  be  viewed.  Their  use  is  transient. 
It  lasts  at  the  longest  but  a  few  score  of  years.  Then 
the  soul  has  been  educated  and  furnished  to  do  without 
them  and  they  are  thrown  by.  The  unseen  world  of  the 
soul  is  now  ready  to  begin  its  independent  existence.  It 
has  gathered  from  the  visible  all  that  th£  visible  can  give. 
It  has  learned  its  alphabet ;  it  can  throw  aside  its  blocks 
and  its  spelling-book,  and  read  what  angels  do. 

]STow  what  a  gross  perversion  it  is  of  all  the  aims  of 
life,  when  a  man  lives  for  time,  and  sense,  and  the  things 
that  are  seen  :  when  on  these  he  concentrates  his  hopes 
and  fears  ;  when  in  these  he  chooses  to  live  and  move  and 
be  absorbed  ;  when,  given  up  to  the  visible,  he  forgets  the 
invisible,  and  seems  to  feel  that  he  lives  only  for  material 
interests  and  material  good !  This  is  sensualism,  ma- 
terialism, worldliness.  It  sacrifices  the  greater  to  less. 
It  idolizes  the  brute  and  crucifies  the  angel.  It  makes 
the  body  its  God,  and  the  soul  a  hewer  of  wood  and 
a  drawer  of  water,  just  reversing  their  true  relation- 
ship. It  is  as  if  a  man  should  demolish  his  dwelling  to 
furnish  his  tent,  as  if  he  should  tear  down  a  Temple  of 
Solomon  to  supply  the  tabernacle  of  the  desert. 

Yet  this  is  what  thousands  do — not  only  the  avowed 
materialist  who  denies,  in  the  face  of  all  evidence,  all 


LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN. 


223 


spiritual  existence,  with  the  Sadducee  for  Ms  prototype, 
ignoring  God,  angel  and  spirit,  but  the  multitudes  of 
practical  materialists,  who  try  to  live,  for  they  can  at 
best  but  try,  in  the  region  of  material  things  alone. 
Some  grasp  gold  as  the  highest  good.  Some  idolize  a 
ribbon  or  a  feather,  and  never  feel  the  majesty  of  a  great, 
good  thought.  Some  devote  themselves  to  sensual  indul- 
gence, forgetful  that  there  are  joys  which  eye  hath  not 
seen  nor  ear  heard.  Some  count  their  wealth  by  the 
standard  of  earthly  value  and  spurn  the  riches  of  the 
soul's  incorruptible  inheritance — a  treasure  that  no  line 
can  measure  and  no  scales  weigh — and  some  even  fly  to 
the  visible  world  for  relief  from  the  invisible  ;  use  pleas- 
ure, and  amusement,  and  games,  and  -business  as  a  di- 
version and  a  foil  to  thoughts  of  duty.  They  take  this 
world,  that  should  be  made  a  causeway  over  which  to 
pass  to  heaven,  to  build  up  a  Chinese  wall  that  shall  shut 
out  every  view  or  approach  of  everlasting  spiritual  truths 
and  realities.  All  this  is  supreme  folly.  It  is  more  ;  it 
is  gross  wickedness,  treason  to  the  soul  and  to  God,  false- 
hood to  all  the  ends  and  aims  of  life. 

In  the  first  place  it  is  debasing ;  more  or  less  so  in 
proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  a  man  gives  himself 
up  to  it.  I  cannot  look  at  a  man  who  has  devoted  his 
years  either  to  sensualism,  or  to  mere  money-making,  or 
to  pleasure,  without  a  feeling  of  pity,  in  which  it  is  hard 
not  to  have  contempt  mingled.  His  heart  has  grown  to 
his  sin,  or  lust,  or  gold  like  a  shell  to  the  rock.  He  is 
rooted  to  things  seen.  He  degenerates  into  a  mere 
thing.  He  becomes  selfish,  miserly,  materialistic,  in  his 
views.  His  soul  is  petrified.  Even  when  the  body  is 
worn  out  and  is  already  crumbling  back  to  clay,  you  can 


224  LIFE  LESSONS. 

talk  to  him  only  of  sensual  or  material  interests.  He 
can  scheme  only  for  lust,  or  gain,  or  some  paltry  plan  of 
self-gratification.  His  thoughts  go  no  higher  than  the 
ceiling  of  his  room,  no  deeper  than  his  furrow.  It  is  hu- 
miliating to  look  at  him,  to  see  in  him  how  humanity 
can  become  debased.  A  libertine,  a  miser,  an  idolater 
of  fashion,  he  has  no  taste  or  relish  for  anything  purer 
or  nobler  than  models  of  clay  or  images  of  corruption. 
He  looks  to  the  things  that  are  seen. 

Now,  take  his  contrast ;  the  man  like  Paul  that  ad- 
mits, and  believes  in  a  world  of  truth,  and  duty,  and 
spiritual  reality,  who  converses  daily  with  the  invisible 
and  the  eternal ;  a  man  to  whom  all  the  material  uni- 
verse is  but  a  glass  through  which  the  soul  reads  lessons 
of  hope,  and  faith,  and  love  ;  one  whose  eye  ranges  be- 
yond the  horizon  of  time  and  sense,  and  takes  in  an  in- 
finite prospect ;  one  who  sinks  the  body  into  subservience 
to  the  spirit,  and  who  makes  all  the  experience  of  life,  its 
pains  and  pleasures,  toil  and  rest,  trials  and  triumphs, 
help  to  the  development  of  a  holy  life  and  preparation 
for  final  blessedness  ;  and  who  does  not  feel  that  in  the 
presence  of  such  an  one  he  stands  face  to  face  with  a 
worth  and  wealth  that  beggar  the  world  ?  He  is  carry- 
ing out  God's  plan  in  his  education.  He  looks  to  things 
that  are  unseen. 

And  not  to  do  this  is  to  disregard  most  stupidly  what  most 
concerns  our  happiness.  It  is  not  the  outward  world  or  out- 
ward circumstances  that  can  suffice  to  make  a  man  happy. 
His  earthly  lot  is  a  poor  test  of  his  enjoyment.  Penury 
in  rags  may  sometimes  be  more  enviable  than  all  wealth 
and  splendor.  Eden  landscapes  cannot  make  Eden 
hearts.  Happiness  does  not  bloom,  like  trees,  perennial 
in  the  tropics.  It  is  the  heart  that  makes  the  world  we 


LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN.  225 

live  in.  It  is  a  man's  thoughts,  the  forms  that  pass  be- 
fore the  mind's  eye,  that  leave  the  most  abiding  impres- 
sions. It  is  the  immaterial  world  of  ideas  that  we 
converse  with  most.  The  mind  daguerreotypes  all  dead 
and  living  forms,  and  far  more  ;  its  fancies,  and  fears,  and 
hopes,  and  convictions  go  to  make  the  solitude  of  its 
thinking  hours  populous.  One  may  walk  through  scenes 
like  the  happy  valley  of  Rasselas  and  carry  a  Vesuvius 
in  his  heart.  One  may  look  out  on  the  placid  sky,  when 
not  a  breath  of  wind  stirs,  or  a  leaf  rustles,  and  there 
shall  be  a  hurricane  in  his  bosom.  Do  you  think  a  man 
is  happy  because  he  lives  in  a  palace  and  calls  broad 
acres  his  own  ?  His  heart  may  even  then  be  a  beggar 
crying,  "  give,  give ! "  The  icebergs  of  the  ocean  have 
to  float  down  all  the  way  from  the  North  Pole,  and  then 
they  will  melt  away  ;  but  a  man's  soul  under  all  the  sun- 
shine of  a  tropical  fortune  may  be  even  to  the  last  like  an 
unimpressible  iceberg. 

If  you  wish  to  know  any  one's  real  condition,  you  must 
look  below  the  surface.  It  is  not  his  wardrobe,  nor  his 
wealth,  nor  his  honors,  that  make  the  real  world  in  which 
he  lives.  Do  you  think  Cain  could  be  a  materialist 
when  the  dire  spectre  of  his  murdered  brother  haunted 
him — a  stern  reality — and  his  own  terror  forced  him  to 
say,  "  every  one  that  seeth  me  shall  slay  me  ?"  Do  you 
think  Esau  was  a  materialist,  when  the  image  of  the  lost 
blessing,  the  unseen  good,  moved  him  to  bitter  and  re- 
morseful tears  ?  Do  you  think  a  sinless  Eden  could  have 
made  Saul  happy  when  the  evil  spirit  troubled  him? 
Was  it  any  visible,  material  loss  that  drova  Judas  to 
suicide?  What  but  the  impalpable  image  of  his  in- 
gratitude sent  Peter  forth  to  weep  bitterly  ?  Was  there 
any  pit  due:  by  human  hands,  any  surging  gulf  which 


226  LIFE  LESSONS. 

human  eye  could  scan,  in  which  Simon  Magus  was 
plunged,  when  the  Apostle  said  of  him,  "  I  perceive  thou 
art  in  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  the  bond  of  iniquity  ?" 
Ah !  it  is  true,  as  the  poet  has  said  : 

"The  mind  is  its  own  place 
And  makes  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven." 

The  elements  that  a  man  carries  with  him  in  his  own 
bosom  are  to  him  the  most  real  of  all  things.  Call  them 
mere  fancies ;  rate  them  as  airy  shapes  ;  scout  them  as 
phantoms.  Put  them  in  the  scales  and  say  they  do  not 
weigh  a  feather.  Make  them  out  just  nothing  avoirdupois. 
But  yet  remember  these  unseen  things,  these  impalpa- 
ble forms  and  airy  shapes  have  more  to  do  with  a  man 
than  all  other  things  beside.  Even  the  drunkard,  raving 
in  delirium,  and  made  a  maniac  by  images  of  horror  that 
no  eye  sees  but  his  own,  shows  how,  when  the  thing  is 
brought  to  a  test,  the  immaterial  in  man  triumphs  over 
the  material,  and  the  mind's  furniture  of  thoughts  and 
fancies  is  the  most  real,  while  all  else  is  but  as  shadows. 
Give  me  the  man  who  looks  at  the  unseen,  and  whose 
conscience  is  in  harmony  with  its  truth  and  its  claims, 
and  I  will  show  you  one  who  with  Joseph  can  endure  the 
solitude  of  the  prison  without  a  murmur  ;  or  with  Daniel 
shall  calmly  pray  to  God  and  not  fear  even  the  lion's 
den,  or  with  the  dying  Stephen  under  the  shower  of 
stones  shall  look  up  with  a  smile  to  the  opening  heavens, 
or  with  Paul  and  Silas  shall  make  the  midnight  gloom 
of  a  prison  vocal  with  songs  of  praise  to  God.  Such 
may  be,  such  has  been,  the  communion  of  the  soul  with 
its  unseen  Helper,  the  feast  of  the  soul  upon  the  hidden 
manna,  the  refreshment  of  the  soul  from  the  unseen  foun- 
tains of  truth  and  duty,  of  faith  and  love,  that  the  flesh 


LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN.  227 

could  be  mangled  on  the  rack,  or  crumble  to  cinders  at 
the  stake,  almost  without  a  consciousness  of  pain,  and 
while  the  face  of  every  beholder  has  gathered  fear  and 
terror,  the  face  of  the  victim  has  been  lighted  up  with 
beams  from  the  unseen  glory. 

But  not  to  look  at  the  unseen,  is  to  disregard  that  which 
is  most  important.  You  look  at  a  diagram  on  the  black- 
board. What  are  those  lines  and  angles,  considered  in 
themselves,  but  just  so  much  pulverized  chalk  in  right 
lines.  But  look  through  the  seen  to  the  unseen,  and  you 
shall  see  those  simple  lines  constructed  to  bring  out  a 
geometrical  truth,  a  link  in  that  chain  of  mathematical 
discovery  that  reaches  from  the  fixed  staple  of  simple 
axioms  up  to  the  highest  point  of  scientific  attainment. 
It  marks  a  step  in  the  progress  of  man  up  from  barbarism 
to  that  stage  of  civilization  in  which  the  iron  and  the 
marble  take  form  under  his  plastic  hand,  and  the  rude 
forces  of  Nature  bend  to  his  will  almost  to  realize  the 
fable  of  Orpheus  charming  them  by  the  music  of  his 
lyre.  So  we  say  material  things  in  themselves  are  of  no 
more  importance  than  so  much  bulk  or  dead  matter,  ex- 
cept as  they  are  the  forms  out  of  which  the  student  of 
Providence  can  educe  unseen  lessons.  What  is  the 
grandest  peak  of  the  Andes  to  a  noble  thought  ?  What 
is  the  fairest  landscape  to  a  beautiful  or  generous  deed  ? 
What  is  the  majesty  of  the  Amazon  to  the  current  of  a 
holy  life  moving  on  irresistibly  in  the  channel  of  duty 
and  bearing  down  all  obstacles,  even  the  terrors  of  death 
before  it  ?  To  talk  of  dollars  and  cents  when  duty  is 
concerned ;  to  speak  of  balance  of  trade  or  of  revenue 
when  the  principles  of  right  action  are  at  stake ;  to  be 
absorbed  in  calculations  of  profit  and  loss  when  virtue 


228  LIFE  LESSONS. 

or  humanity  are  bleeding  their  life  away,  seems  to  me 
worse,  if  possible,  than  Nero  fiddling  while  Rome  burned. 
One  of  the  most  stultifying  and  ludicrous  exhibitions  of 
materialism  that  I  can  now  recall  is  to  be  found  in  a  mi- 
nority report  of  a  committee  of  our  State  Legislature  on 
petitions  for  closing  the  canals  on  the  Sabbath.  This 
report,  not  pretending  absolutely  to  deny  the  importance 
of  religious  convictions,  goes  on  to  speak  of  "  the  tremen- 
dous effect  upon  the  revenues  of  the  State,  and  upon  the 
prosperity  if  not  the  very  being  of  the  canal  itself,  which 
might  possibly  be  the  result  of  granting  the  prayer  of  the 
petitioners.77  It  is  as  if  one  should  speak  of  the  tremen- 
dous weight  of  a  pebble  when  an  avalanche  threatened 
to  overwhelm  him.  I  am  sure  that  all  material  interests 
combined — railroads,  and  canals,  and  rivers,  and  lakes — 
might  better  be  sunk  in  the  ocean,  than  just  help  to  peo- 
ple and  enrich  a  land  given  up  to  Sabbath  desecration, 
soon  to  be  shaken  by  those  earthquakes  of  terrible  retri- 
bution, which  like  that  in  France  at  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  when  the  Sabbath  was  legislated  away,  will 
make  men  feel  that  Pandemonium  is  let  loose  on  earth. 
To  weigh  cargoes  against  principles,  revenue  against  in- 
tegrity, tolls  or  income  against  the  fear  of  God,  is  as 
absurd  as  to  calculate  the  value  of  the  self-denial  of  a 
Paul,  the  benevolence  of  a  Howard,  or  the  patriotism  of 
a  Washington,  in  specie  or  bank  notes.  The  riches  of  a 
community,  as  of  an  individual,  are  not  to  be  found  in  its 
purse  or  its  common  treasury.  They  are  not  to  be  com- 
puted by  stock  in  trade  or  annual  income.  They  exist 
in  that  which  casts  all  material  interests  altogether  in 
the  shade,  in  the  elements  of  character  and  education 
and  capacity  for  true  and  noble  deeds — not  in  the  seen 
but  in  the  unseen. 


LIVING  FOE  THE  UNSEEN. 


229 


It  is  the  invisible  world  of  truth  and  duty  which  towers 
infinitely  above  all  earth-bounded  schemes  and  interests. 
I  cannot  but  regard  a  man  who,  surrounded  by  the  Eter- 
nal and  the  Infinite,  and  possessed  of  a  soul  whose  native 
aspirations  and  aptitudes  fit  it  to  grasp  hold  of  thoughts 
as  grand  as  God's  being,  and  an  immortal  destiny,  yet 
grovels  in  the  dust-siftings  of  time  and  sense,  as  I  must 
on  one  who  should  gaze  absorbed  upon  a  little  bubbling 
rill  in  full  sight  of  Niagara  Falls,  and  yet  have  no  eye  to 
behold  or  admire  that  emblem  of  Omnipotence.  I  would 
say  to  him,  "  Lift  up  your  soul,  man ;  fling  away  your 
straws  and  chips,  and  think  of  a  house  not  made  with 
hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  Fling  down  your  crutches 
and  try  your  wings.  Crawl  no  longer  as  a  worm,  but 
soar  to  be  an  angel.  Drop  your  microscope  with  which 
you  gaze  at  the  minute  atoms  of  chalk  on  God's  black- 
board, and  read  the  meaning  of  those  lines  and  angles, 
where  eternity  and  the  laws  of  probation  are  diagrammed. 
Aspire  no  more  to  be  merely  respectable.  There  is  an 
unseen  bar  where  the  King  Invisible  will  judge  the  judges 
you  fear  so  much.  The  seen  is  nothing  to  the  unseen. 
It  is  the  merely  material  shadow  that  marks  where  God's 
truths  are  passing  by.  It  is  the  emblem  that  you  are  to 
look  through,  and  then  it  is  God's  telescope  to  unfold 
worlds  that  Herschel  and  Ross  never  discovered,  and  of 
which  mere  science  never  dreamed." 

But  to  look  to  the  seen  rather  than  the  unseen,  and  to 
the  exclusion  of  it,  is  the  grossest  folly  when  you  con- 
sider that  the  things  that  are  seen  are  temporal,  and  that 
the  things  that  are  unseen  are  eternal.  All  that  we  be- 
hold with  the  outward  eye  is  transient  and  will  pass 
away.  Change  and  ruin  are  written  upon  it  all.  These 


230 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


bodies  shall  crumble  to  dust.  The  dwellings  of  your 
poverty  or  your  pride  will  be  razed  to  their  foundations. 
The  robes  you  wear  will  become  rags  and  be  cast  aside. 
Your  possessions  will  pass  from  your  grasp,  and  all  the 
conveniences  of  your  comfort  and  all  the  resources  of 
your  affluence  will  vanish  away.  Time  covers  the  world 
with  his  ravages.  He  passes  over  empires,  and  his  hoof 
of  destruction  realizes  for  them  the  boast  of  Attila. 
Pyramids  and  pillared  marble  and  triumphal  monuments 
crumble  under  his  eye,  and  when  he  has  done  his  work, 
a  mightier  hand  shall  sweep  away  his  ruins  and  his 
structures,  and 

"  The  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherits  shall  dissolve, 
And  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision 
Leave  not  a  wreck  behind." 

The  triumphs  of  art,  the  masterpieces  of  the  sculptor, 
on  which  he  toiled  to  immortalize  his  name,  the  lofty 
domes  which  attest  the  loftier  aspirations  of  architectural 
genius,  all  the  material  gains  and  achievements  of  busy 
millions,  and  of  all  ages,  shall  live  only  in  memory,  and 
the  place  that  knew  them  once  shall  know  them  no  more. 

But  the  unseen  world,  and  all  that  belongs  to  it,  is 
imperishable.  Ages  shall  not  annihilate  or  have  power 
over  it.  God  will  still  be  the  "  King,  eternal,  immortal, 
invisible."  The  soul  will  live,  unencumbered  longer 
with  the  burdens  of  the  flesh.  The  elements  of  thought 
and  character  will  survive  the  grave.  A  holy  life  will 
be  an  ark  of  hallowed  memories  and  deeds  that  will 
float  over  the  deluge  that  buries  all  the  scenes  of  its  con- 
secrated effort.  The  invisible  laws  of  retribution,  the 
inviolability  of  justice,  the  everlasting  beauty  of  holiness, 


LIVING  FOX'  THE  UNSEEN.  231 

the  unchanging  blessedness  of  purity  of  heart — all  these 
will  survive.  The  soul  itself  will  carry  with  it  to  the 
judgment-seat  of  God  all  the  elements  of  that  unseen 
world  within,  in  which  it  is  to  live  forever.  That  world 
is  imperishable.  Not  an  impression  is  lost.  Not  a 
memory  dies.  The  tastes,  appetites,  aspirations,  loves  or 
hates,  hopes  or  fears  of  the  soul  will  follow  it  where  it 
can  carry  nothing  else.  It  will  have  all  those,  without 
the  encumbrance  or  the  alleviation  of  sensual  existence. 
The  drunkard,  or  the  libertine,  or  the  miser,  with  all  their 
raging  lusts  or  ingrained  habits,  but  with  nothing  to 
satisfy  them ;  the  ambitious  or  proud  man,  with  no  mate- 
rial means  to  gratify  the  greed  of  a  ruling  passion ;  the 
worldly  man,  accustomed  to  lean  on  the  world  for  his  joy 
and  diversion  and  gratification,  but  now  with  no  such  re- 
source— all  these,  in  that  conscious  guilt  which  no  eye 
can  see,  and  that  conscious  misery  the  heart  only  knows, 
will  illustrate  how  much  of  perdition  a  man  can  carry 
with  him  on  earth,  how  thoroughly  he  may  be  mastered 
by  that  undying  worm  of  inward  craving  that  fed  on  the 
world  once,  but  feeds  on  the  sinner  now. 

But  that  soul  which  is  God's  living  temple,  and  in 
which  he  abides,  is  a  world  in  itself  of  peace  and  joy. 
No  matter  where  you  place  it,  with  Daniel  in  a  lions' 
den ;  with  the  outlawed  confessor  of  Christ,  in  the  glens 
or  caves  of  the  earth  ;  in  the  fires  of  trial ;  in  the  deep 
waters  of  affliction ;  in  light  or  darkness ;  in  the  land 
Beulah,  or  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death — its  faith 
brings  God  near  it,  into  it,  and  it  triumphs  in  the 
thought,  independent  of  earth's  hindrances  or  its  helps. 
It  lives  in  the  unseen,  and  into  the  darkest  glooms  of 
earth  it  brings  with  it  the  splendors  of  God's  eternal 
day  forever  shining  on  its  path. 


232  LIFE  LESSONS 

We  may  see,  therefore,  how  fatal  a  policy  it  is  for  the 
soul  to  yield  itself  up  to  the  things  that  are  seen,  to 
live  as  though  it  had  only  to  do  with  time  and  sense. 
You  would,  perhaps,  smile  to  see  a  man  offering  his  hand 
to  shadows,  or  presuming  to  evade  their  blows.  You 
would  count  him  a  simpleton  or  a  maniac.  But  all  the 
worldly  successes  and  applause  of  life  are  to  the  soul 
that  leans  on  God  no  more  than  the  hand  of  a  shadow, 
and  all  the  blows  which  the  world  can  inflict  are  no  more 
than  the  blows  of  a  shadow.  "  Fear  not,"  said  Christ, 
"  them  that  can  kill  the  body,  and  after  that  have  no 
more  that  they  can  do,  but  fear  ye  rather  Him  who  can 
cast  both  soul  and  body  into  hell,  yea  I  say  unto  you, 
fear  Him  1" 

And  yet  how  many  fly  to  the  seen  to  escape  the  un- 
seen, like  Adam  hasting  to  the  thicket  from  the  voice 
of  God !  How  many  rush  into  business,  or  pleasure,  or 
schemes  of  amusement,  or  to  diverting  scenes,  to  escape 
from  conviction  or  from  the  arrest  of  conscience !  That 
unseen  officer  of  the  invisible  Judge  is  at  least  no  phan- 
tom, for  to  escape  him  the  soul  plunges  deeper  into 
material  schemes  and  interests.  Oh,  beware  of  this ! 
Run  not  away  to  hide  yourself  from  the  Unseen  but  All- 
seeing  !  You  must  meet  God  at  last — meet  him  now! 

Once  more  each  one  is  making  the  world  in  which  he 
is  to  live  forever.  How  carefully  should  he  proceed. 
The  man  who  builds  his  house  to  live  in  it  for  a  score  or 
two  of  years,  is  careful  in  the  building  and  the  furnishing 
of  it.  His  eye  will  rest  upon  it  often.  It  is  to  be  his 
home.  It  will  minister  in  all  its  arrangements  to  his 
convenience  or  his  discomfort.  You  do  not  chide  him 
for  his  care. 

Well,  then,  let  us  suppose  that  God  offers  you  the  privi- 


LIVING  FOR  THE  UNSEEN. 


233 


lege  of  making  a  world.  He  says,  "  Here  are  the  mate- 
rials for  it,  and  here  are  the  powers  to  shape  them.  You 
may  make  it  what  you  like.  Here  is  soil  that  will  make 
gardens,  water  that  will  make  rivers  and  oceans,  granite 
masses  that  will  make  Alps  or  Andes.  All  that  is  grand 
or  beautiful,  magnificent  or  terrible,  barren  or  frightful, 
is  here  furnished  to  your  hand.  Make  a  world  of  them 
to  suit  your  taste,  and  you  may  have  it  for  your  own,  to 
live  in  and  enjoy  for  ten  thousand  years."  Would  it  not 
oe  a  magnificent  offer  ? 

Well,  God  has  done  far  more  than  this.  He  has  given 
you  a  soul,  that  outweighs  in  value  and  in  resources  all 
the  material  universe,  and  he  has  given  you  probation 
and  its  means  to  shape  and  mould  it  at  your  will.  He 
says,  "  Make  that  into  a  world  to  suit  your  taste,  make 
it  to  suit  you  to  live  in  and  enjoy,  not  ten  thousand,  but 
ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  years."  And  you  have 
already  begun  to  shape  and  mould  it.  What  and  how 
much  have  you  done  ?  Have  you  planted  it  with  heaven- 
ward hopes  and  aspirations — those  cedars  of  Lebanon  in 
the  garden  of  God,  or  with  the  thorns,  thistles  and  bram- 
bles of  worldly  cares  ?  Have  you  solemnly  and  prayer- 
fully invited  the  guidance  of  God  and  His  counsel  to 
direct  you  in  the  momentous  undertaking;  ? 


XXVII. 

THE  STANDARD  OP  THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 


"Follow  after  righteousness,  godliness,  faith,  love,  patience,  meekness." — 
1  TIM.  vi.  11. 


NO  one  who  attentively  peruses  the  Scriptures  can 
remain  in  doubt  of  the  high  standard  of  a  Chris- 
tian life.  "  Follow  me/7  says  the  Saviour.  That  is,  be 
like  me.  "  Be  ye  holy,  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  holy.77 
Read  over  the  life  of  Christ  and  you  will  see  what  the 
life  of  a  Christian  should  be.  There  is  the  standard. 
There  is  no  other ;  not  the  life  of  a  minister — not  that  of 
any  man,  however  eminent  or  devoted — not  that  of  a 
Doddridge,  or  Payson,  or  Brainerd,  or  Edwards,  or  Bax- 
ter, or  Bunyan.  No  one  sooner  than  these  men  would 
say,  "  Look  not  to  us,  but  to  Jesus." 

Paul  rebukes  the  tendency  common  with  many,  of 
virtually  saying  to  themselves,  "  I  can  do  what  such  an 
one  does,"  or,  "  No  more  can  be  expected  of  me  than  of 
such  an  one."  He  says,  "  They  that  compare  themselves 
among  themselves,  and  measure  themselves  by  themselves, 
are  not  wise."  It  would  be  just  as  proper  for  a  merchant 
to  measure  his  cloth  by  the  old  burnt  fragment  of  a  yard- 
stick as  for  a  Christian  to  measure  the  aim  of  his  life  by 
the  imperfect  examples  of  a  Christian  brother.  Christ 

(234) 


STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 


235 


is  spoken  of  as  "  leaving  us  an  example  that  we  should 
follow  in  his  steps/7  The  measure  of  the  yard  in  Eng- 
land was  once  adjusted  by  the  arm  of  the  King,  and  then 
the  standard  was  placed  for  preservation  and  reference  in 
the  Tower  of  London.  Christ's  life  is  our  standard,  and  it 
is  safely  preserved  in  the  pages  of  the  New  Testament  that 
will  last  when  the  Tower  of  London  is  all  dust.  "  Look- 
ing unto  Jesus,'7  is  the  Christian's  motto.  If,  therefore,  we 
can  ascertain  the  characteristics  of  his  life,  we  can  see 
what  ours  should  be — what  it  must  be,  if  he  is  ever 
to  own  his  image  in  us,  and  to  acknowledge  us  as  his 
followers. 

First,  then,  it  was  pure  and  holy.  "  He  did  no  sin, 
neither  was  guile  found  in  his  mouth.77  His  bitterest  foes 
could  find  no  immorality  in  his  life — nothing  on  which 
to  base  a  charge  against  him.  There  was  no  impure 
lust,  no  selfish  or  ambitious  aim  ;  No  covetousness  after 
worldly  possessions ;  no  angry  passions ;  no  envy,  jealousy, 
spite,  or  pride.  His  words  were  true,  serious,  faithful. 
His  deeds  were  kind,  just,  and  humane.  In  the  parable 
of  the  Good  Samaritan  he  has  sketched  the  spirit  of  that 
life  that  could  feed  the  hungry,  give  sight  to  the  blind, 
weep  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus,  and  pour  consolation  into 
the  heart  of  the  humbled  publican.  He  did  not  shrink 
from  the  touch  of  the  poor  and  wretched.  All  might 
approach  him.  He  could  make  his  home  with  the  humble 
family  of  Bethany.  He  could  dine  with  Zaccheus.  He 
did  not  shun  conta.ct  with  any  one  whom  he  could  bless, 
be  they  centurions,  or  publicans  and  sinners.  He  went 
through  the  world  like  the  sunbeam,  enlightening  others, 
but  contracting  no  impurity  himself.  There  was  no 
aping  of  wealth  or  greatness,  no  over-anxiety  for  even 
the  necessaries  of  life,  no  respect  of  persons,  no  desire 


236  LIFE  LESSONS. 

for  the  world's  empty  honors,  no  concern  that  the  rich 
arid  the  great  only  despised  him. 

And  then,  as  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  his  life 
was  full  of  love.  He  prayed  for  all.  He  had  glad  ti- 
dings for  all.  He  forgave  his  enemies  and  prayed  God 
to  forgive  them.  His  life  was  the  toil  of  love  for 
wretched  men,  and  his  death  was  its  triumphant  and  per- 
fect exhibition.  Not  a  malicious  or  revengeful  thought 
did  he  cherish,  not  even  amid  the  ignominious  insults  of 
his  crucifixion. 

His  self-denial,  also,  was  the  evidence  and  the  fruit  of 
his  love.  Never  before  or  since  has  anything  like  it  been 
seen  or  known.  He  left  the  glory  of  Heaven  for  the 
meanness  of  a  human  lot.  He  left  the  worship  of  angels, 
to  incur  the  maledictions  of  men.  He  exchanged  the 
throne  of  Heaven  for  a  cross  of  shame.  He  had  the 
power  of  working  miracles,  but  exercised  it  for  the 
benefit  of  others,  never  for  his  own.  And  all  this  was 
for  no  selfish  end.  Compassion  for  wretched  and  guilty 
men,  was  the  motive  that  led  to  this  self-denial. 

And  beside  all,  he  was  eminently  and  uninterrupt- 
edly devoted  to  glorifying  God — to  the  accomplishment 
of  the  work  of  his  mission.  "  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must 
be  about  my  Father's  business  ?"  was  his  question  when 
a  child  in  the  temple.  "  Work  while  it  is  day,  for  the 
night  cometh  when  no  man  can  work,"  was  an  admoni- 
tion which  his  life  as  well  as  lips  enforced.  There  was 
no  indolence,  no  indifference.  Even  when  he  sat  down 
weary  upon  the  well  of  Samaria,  he  was  busy  for  God. 
He  made  the  flowers  of  the  field  preach,  and  the  sower's 
seed  furnish  him  emblems.  He  organized  his  disciples 
into  bands,  and  sent  them  forth  to  work.  He  communi- 
cated MB  own  activity  to  those  around  him.  All  his 


STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 


237 


talents,  all  his  powers  were  devoted  to  the  great  work 
of  his  mission. 

Such  is  a  most  brief  and  imperfect  sketch  of  His  ex- 
ample whose  authority  must  be  acknowledged  by  all  that 
bear  the  Christian  name.  It  is  the  rule  which  we  are  to 
copy.  He  whom  we  acknowledge  as  our  Master  has  set 
it  for  us.  It  is  faultless.  It  is  perfect.  It  is  the  only  one 
that  fixes  the  measure  and  scope  of  our  aims.  And  now 
see  what  a  life  that  must  be  that  just  copies  Christ ;  how 
pure,  kind,  holy,  loving,  prayerful,  self-denying,  devoted ! 
How  active  and  energetic  in  the  work  of  doing  good ! 
Take  the  holiest  and  best  men  that  have  ever  lived — the 
Apostles  enduring  perils  of  every  kind,  that  amid  hard- 
ship, and  abuse,  and  imprisonment,  they  might  exhibit  the 
spirit  as  well  as  declare  the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel ; 
"  the  noble  army  of  the  martyrs  "  welcoming  persecution, 
or  torture,  or  death  for  the  testimony  of  Jesus  ;  the  mis- 
sionaries of  the  cross,  leaving  home  and  native  land  be- 
hind them  in  order  to  bestow  upon  ignorant  and  wretched 
tribes  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ ;  the  prayerful, 
and  devoted,  and  self-denying  men  who  in  humble  sta- 
tions have  made  it  manifest  that  they  were  men  of  God, 
and  were  toiling  to  bless  others  and  save  their  own 
souls — take  all  these,  and  hear  them  every  one  confessing 
their  own  weaknesses,  and  deficiencies,  and  failings,  as 
compared  with  the  one  only  example,  and  then  judge,  if 
ye  bear  the  Christian  name,  what  manner  of  persons  ye 
ought  to  be  in  all  holy  conversation  and  godliness,  if  y& 
are  not  to  dishonor  that  holy  name  wherewith  ye  are 
called.  Surely,  the  standard  of  a  Christian  life  is  a  high 
one. 

We  see  this,  moreover,  when  we  consider  its  object. 
Why  does  God  hold  up  before  us  such  an  example  as  that 


238  LIFE  LESSONS. 

of  Jesus  ?  It  is  that  we  may  be  transformed  into  the  same 
image  from  glory  to  glory.  It  is  to  make  that  an  instru- 
ment in  our  training  to  be  like  God  himself.  The  whole 
scope  of  redemption  is  to  recover  our  lost  race — to  bring 
men  back  to  God.  The  Gospel  hope  reaches  after 
nothing  higher  than  the  blessedness  of  perfect  holiness. 
Without  holiness  it  is  impossible  to  please  God.  With- 
out holiness  no  one  shall  see  the  Lord.  It  is  only  as  we 
are  like  Christ  that  we  are  fitted  for  heaven.  Nothing 
unholy  or  impure  can  be  admitted  there.  Sin  would  mar 
its  beauty,  and  disturb  its  peace,  and  make  discord  in  its 
anthems.  An  unholy  heart  there,  beneath  the  glance  of 
a  holy  God,  would  be  out  of  place.  It  would  feel  itself 
an  alien,  a  stranger,  an  exile  from  all  with  which  it  could 
sympathize. 

A  Christian,  then,  is  one  that  is  in  training  for  the 
holiness  of  heaven  ;  one  that  God  is  teaching  and  disci- 
plining to  be  an  angel ;  one  that  is  aiming  and  striving 
to  reach  that  eternal  home,  which  is  made  glorious  by 
the  presence  of  a  holy  God.  Here  he  is  a  sojourner  and 
a  pilgrim.  All  his  interests,  his  treasure,  his  hope,  are 
in  heaven.  He  fails  of  everything  if  he  fails  in  these, 
and  he  must  fail,  if  he  is  not  like  Christ. 

See,  too,  how  the  standard  of  a  Christian  life  is  sug- 
gested by  what  the  Scriptures  say  of  those  that  bear  the 
sacred  name  of  disciple :  "  Ye  are  my  witnesses,"  says 
God.  What  can  an  unholy  man,  what  can  an  unrenewed 
•heart,  what  can  a  worldly  mind  testify  as  to  the  loving- 
kindness,  and  the  glorious  holiness,  and  the  spotless  ex- 
cellence of  Jehovah  ?  "  Ye  are  the  light  of  the  world," 
says  Christ ;  but  what  sort  of  a  light  is  that  which  emits 
rays  of  darkness,  that  light  which  is  all  blurred  over  and 
eclipsed  by  worldly  passions,  by  spots  of  impurity,  by 


STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  239 

conduct  that  challenges  the  reproach  of  men  ?  "  Ye  are 
the  salt  of  the  earth  ;"  but  what  virtue  has  that  to  com- 
municate which  cannot  preserve  itself,  and  what  excel- 
lence must  there  be  to  warrant  the  truthful  application 
of  these  words  ? 

The  Christian,  moreover,  has  had  great  things  done 
for  him  of  which  his  life  is  to  be  the  witness.  He  is 
called  by  God's  message,  he  is  redeemed  by  the  blood  of 
the  Son  of  God,  he  is  renewed  by  the  power  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  Infinite  grace  has  called  him  out  from  darkness 
into  God's  marvellous  light.  He  has  seen  God  in  Christ 
reconciling  the  world  to  himself.  He  has  felt  the  evil 
of  sin  in  his  own  nature,  and  has  read  its  odiousness  in 
the  tragedy  of  the  cross.  Eternity  has  been  unfolded  to 
him.  The  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ  have  been  ex- 
hibited to  him.  Heaven  has  opened  its  gates  to  invite 
him  thither.  To  him  the  Apostle  turns,  when  he  says, 
"  Ye  are  redeemed  not  by  corruptible  things  as  silver  and 
gold,  but  by  the  precious  blood  of  the  Lamb  of  God."  Is 
such  an  one  to  be  content  with  a  low  and  worldly  stand- 
ard of  living  ?  Is  he  to  make  self  his  idol  ?  Is  he  to 
indulge  in  the  lusts  of  the  flesh,  the  lusts  of  the  eyes,  and 
the  pride  of  life  ?  Is  he  to  live  like  the  sin-blinded  dev- 
otee of  Mammon,  to  indulge  in  passion,  envy,  malice,  re- 
venge, covetousness,  pride  ?  Is  he  to  allow  himself  to 
drift  along  on  the  current  of  the  world,  conforming  him- 
self to  the  standards  of  fashion,  the  indolence  of  his  own 
nature,  or  the  humors  of  the  hour  ? 

Even  the  world  itself,  conscious  of  the  glaring  contra- 
diction, indignantly  replies,  No  !  Mere  men  of  the  world, 
strangers  to  the  spirituality  of  the  Gospel  claims,  can  see 
that  they  are  very  high,  and  they  look  to  the  Christian 
dipciple  for  a  conduct  that  shall  show  principles  of  action 


240 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


and  aims  above  their  own  ;  and  however  unfit  they  may 
be  to  taunt  those  that  come  short,  the  very  taunt  shows 
how  they  take  the  standard  of  a  Christian  life  to  be 
something  pure,  and  exalted,  and  holy,  and  heavenlike — 
pure  gold  to  their  dross. 

And  if  we  think  of  the  work  which  the  Church  is  to 
accomplish,  we  see  that  it  can  be  accomplished  only  as  a 
high  standard  of  Christian  life  and  character  is  sustained. 
This  world  is  to  be  converted  to  God,  and  the  instru- 
ments for  doing  it  are  men  ;  but  they  must  be  holy  men. 
The  work  can  be  done  by  no  others.  It  is  not  wealth, 
or  talent,  or  royal  patronage  that  can  do  it.  Genius 
may  exhaust  itself  in  setting  forth  the  excellence  of  the 
Gospel.  Material  means  may  be  multiplied  beyond  all 
precedent  in  the  work  of  spreading  it ;  but  all  these  will 
be  only  the  shell  of  a  rotten  trunk,  if  vital  piety,  the  very 
heart  of  the  Christian  life  is  wanting.  Worldly  men 
cannot  convert  the  world.  Half  Christians  cannot  do  it. 
Any  quantity  of  Pilates,  or  Agrippas,  or  Demases  can- 
not do  it.  A  popular  vote  of  the  nations  in  favor  of  it 
would  not  do  it.  The  eloquence  that  is  not  enkindled  by 
charity  is  only  as  sounding  brass  or  a  tinkling  cymbal. 
It  is  the  living  piety  of  the  church — back  of  all  sermons 
however  studied,  all  creeds  however  orthodox,  all  rites 
however  simple — that  gives  them  force.  Our  logic  can 
not  argue  men  through  the  strait  gate.  Our  warnings 
can  not  startle  from  the  lethargy  of  death  in  sin.  Bat 
there  is  a  power  in  the  life  of  a  consistent  and  devoted 
Christian  which  defies  the  indifference  of  the  worldling 
and  the  unbelief  of  the  sceptic.  They  cannot  sneer  it 
down.  They  cannot  ignore  it.  It  is  a  living  witness 
against  them,  always  testifying  to  a  reality  that  accuses 
them.  Here  is  the  strength  of  the  Church,  Not  the 


STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 


241 


great  names  of  her  ministers  or  prelates,  not  the  increase 
of  her  numbers,  not  the  outward  respect  which  she  re- 
ceives from  statesmen,  and  poets,  and  politicians ;  but 
the  living,  active  piety  of  her  members,  their  exem- 
plary and  devoted  spirit,  their  prayerfulness,  humility  and 
Christlikeness  ;  these  are  the  weapons  of  her  warfare, 
not  carnal,  but  mighty  through  God  to  the  pulling  down 
of  strongholds.  These  make  her  more  terrible  than  an 
army  with  banners.  These  bring  down  to  her  aid  the 
omnipotence  of  God.  Those  lives,  then,  that  do  not  come 
up  to  this  standard,  say,  virtually,  "  abandon  the  great 
work  for  which  the  Saviour  lived  and  died.  Let  the 
world  perish  in  its  sin  ;  pronounce  Christianity  a  failure, 
and  abandon  it."  But  we  cannot  abandon  it.  We  say, 
rather  let  the  Church  live  up  to  her  high  standard.  And 
it  must  be  high.  It  must  be  such  that  men  shall  read 
Christ  in  it ;  such  that  he  shall  be  preached  in  it ;  such 
that  men  who  never  open  the  lids  of  the  Bible  shall  have 
a  living  gospel  before  them. 

But  what  is  now  the  condition  of  the  Christian  Church  ? 
What  is  the  state  of  the  vast  mass  that  compose  it  ?  Alas ! 
how  has  the  gold  become  dim,  how  is  the  most  fine  gold 
changed !  We  are  too  deeply  conscious  in  ourselves  of 
the  discrepancy  between  what  we  are,  and  what  we  should 
be,  to  question  the  change  that  has  come  over  the  Church 
since  those  early  days  when  the  little  band  of  disciples 
gathered  in  an  upper  chamber  in  Jerusalem  constituted 
the  whole  visible  strength  that  was  to  grapple  with  the 
heathenisms  of  the  world  and  the  superstitions  of  ages. 
There  are  some,  indeed,  who  are  exceptions  to  the  general 
rule  ;  some  who  have  not  defiled  the  garments  of  their 
profession  ;  some  who  mourn  in  secret  over  the  desola- 
11 


242  LIFE  LESSONS. 

tions  of  Zion  ;  some  who  live  to  do  their  Master's  will. 
But  how  few  these  are ! 

Where  do  you  find  the  true  standard  of  a  Christian 
life  aimed  at  ?  Go  into  the  walks  of  commerce,  and 
where  are  the  men  who  carry  the  sense  of  their  steward- 
ship to  God  with  them  to  their  stores  and  their  desks  ? 
Where  are  they  who  bear  about  with  them  into  the 
world  the  consciousness  that  they  are  witnesses  for  God  ? 
Almost  every  where  you  see  the  idolatry  of  Mammon  ; 
all  the  heart,  and  mind,  and  soul,  and  strength  absorbed 
in  making  money  ;  the  weariness  of  six  days  of  excessive 
toil,  robbing  the  seventh  of  its  energy  for  serving  God  ; 
indolence  eating  out  devotion  ;  selfishness  displacing 
self-denial ;  praise  neglected  and  prayer  forgotten.  How 
often  do  religious  services  become  the  mere  routine  of 
habit,  and  Sabbath  observance  the  mere  tribute  to  a 
practice  that  has  lost  its  vitality.  How  might  an  observ- 
ing heathen,  judging  us  in  mass,  write  back  to  his  country- 
men that  our  devotion  consisted  in  the  patient  endurance 
of  having  two  sermons  weekly  poured  down  the  throat 
of  the  intellect,  and  that  the  activities  of  the  Church  were 
absorbed  in  the  process  ! 

In  some  cases,  who  would  suspect  a  man  of  being  one 
that  bears  the  Christian  name  ?  He  shows  the  same 
tastes,  sympathies,  and  habits  as  his  unconverted  neigh- 
bor. In  his  household  he  is  not  the  Christian  parent  • 
in  his  business  he  is  not  the  Christian  trafficker.  Some- 
times you  see  him  passionate,  grasping  for  gain,  hurrying 
as  eagerly  to  scenes  of  amusement  as  the  true  disciple 
will  to  the  place  of  prayer. 

In  fact,  there  are  many  Christians  by  profession,  who 
make  of  this,  two  distinct  worlds  ;  one  the  world  of  relig- 
ious ordinance,  the  other  of  secular  profit.  A  man  is 


STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  243 

the  saint  in  the  one  and  the  worldling  in  the  other.  He 
goes  out  from  the  sanctuary  and  forgets  what  manner  of 
man  he  was.  He  puts  away  his  piety  with  his  Sunday 
wardrobe.  His  hand  is  devout  when  it  holds  a  Bible, 
but  a  creature  of  party  when  it  casts  a  vote. 

Can  this  be  justified  ?  Is  this  an  age  when  we  may 
lower  the  Christian  standard  ?  Have  the  apostolic  band, 
"  the  noble  army  of  the  martyrs,"  the  hosts  of  those  who 
have  "  passed  through  great  tribulation  and  washed  their 
robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb" — 
have  all  these,  headed  by  their  great  Leader,  preceded 
us  only  that  we  should  dishonor  their  illustrious  example, 
and  prove  ourselves  unworthy  to  follow  in  their  steps  ? 
Has  the  world  become  such  that  it  no  longer  needs  to 
have  "  living  epistles"  of  piety  and  devotion  spread  be- 
fore it  for  admonition  and  rebuke  ?  Has  the  missionary 
sent  back  word  from  his  heathen  field  that  the  kingdoms 
of  this  world  have  become  the  kingdoms  of  Christ  ?  Is 
there  no  longer  any  call  to  self-denial,  to  importunate 
prayer,  to  holy  living,  to  enduring  hardships  as  good 
soldiers"  of  Christ  ?  Has  the  order  of  discipline  in  the 
great  "  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect"  been  recalled .? 
Is  Christ's  life  our  pattern  no  longer  ?  Is  it  henceforth 
an  easy  thing  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate  ? 

Let  no  man  deceive  himself.  Till  the  goal  is  reached  ; 
till  we  apprehend  that  for  which  also  we  are  apprehended 
of  Christ  Jesus,  we  are  to  follow  after  righteousness, 
godliness,  faith  and  love. 


XXVIII. 

THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR. 

"  And  there  he  builded  an  altar  unto  the  Lord." — GEN.  xii.  7. 

WHAT  a  significant,  although  brief  and  simple, 
record  is  that  which  teaches  us  that  the  old 
patriarch  had  his  altar  where  he  pitched  his  tent !  It  was 
not  enough  to  constitute  his  home  that  his  family  should 
be  around  him.  He  must  have  the  assurance  that  the 
Eternal  Father  was  present  to  watch  over  all. 

A  grand  sight  that  was  in  the  heart  of  the  old  heathen- 
ism— that  one  man  against  the  world  almost — that  soli- 
tary relic  of  Eden  memories,  green  yet  amid  the  wide 
desolations — that  altar  of  a  pure  worship  like  the  ark  of 
the  deluge,  the  sole  resting-place  for  the  foot  of  pilgrim 
piety  I  See  that  standard  for  the  true  God  set  up,  more 
sublime  than  granite  monument  or  obelisk,  yet  reared  by 
a  humble  home,  and  casting  its  shadow  over  the  ground 
where  the  children  played !  It  is  to  them  hearthstone, 
temple,  church  spire,  all  in  one.  It  is  the  symbol  of  all 
that  we  hold  dear  between  the  pages  of  the  Bible.  There 
it  stands,  more  than  a  fortress  to  guard  that  home  ;  more 
than  a  sanctuary  to  kindle  devotion  ;  an  ever-speaking 
witness  for  God,  the  prophetic  pledge  that  the  world's 
great  sacrifice  was  yet  to  be  offered. 

And  what  a  noble  character  is  that  of  the  old  patriarch  ! 
No  worldly  conformist  is  he — no  mere  time-server.  See 
how  with  a  world  against  him  he  builds  his  altar ;  see 

(244) 


THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR.  245 

how  in  the  solid  stones  of  the  pile,  he  writes  out  as  in 
granite  letters  his  confession  of  the  true  God  ;  see  how 
he  sets  it  up  before  the  eyes  of  his  household,  and  how 
tent  and  altar  rise  side  by  side. 

Ah,  give  us  such  piety  as  that !  which,  even  though  no 
church  or  temple  be  near,  will  make  its  own  home  a  sanc- 
tuary, and  bring  the  glory  of  a  Horeb  or  a  Calvary  down 
beside  its  lowly  tent. 

The  example  of  Abraham  is  one  to  be  copied.  Every 
tent  should  have  its  altar,  every  home  its  mercy-seat. 
The  father  should  be  the  priest  of  his  own  household. 
Each  family  should  offer  with  united  heart,  its  morning 
and  its  evening  sacrifice. 

Does  not  the  very  statement  carry  a  convincing  force 
with  it  ?  Who  that  believes  in  the  loving  Providence  of 
the  great  Father  would  call  it  in  question  ?  Who  but 
feels  constrained  to  admire  the  beauty,  the  hallowing  and 
peaceful  influence  of  family  worship  ? 

True,  it  may  degenerate  into  an  empty  form.  It  may 
sink  into  a  hollow  and  heartless  service.  It  may  become 
a  drudgery,  and  repel  rather  than  attract.  But  this  will 
be  only  when  the  life  of  piety  is  chilled  and  benumbed  by 
worldliness,  when  the  heart  is  drawn  off  to  earthly  idols, 
when  the  great  truths  of  immortality  and  redemption  are 
neglected  or  forgotten. 

Every  community  should  have  its  altar,  its  place  of 
public  worship  and  common  and  united  devotion.  Abra- 
ham's altar  was  the  type  of  both  social  and  family  relig- 
ion— the  devotion  of  temple  and  of  hearthstone  together. 
He  was  alone  in  the  world  as  the  worshipper  of  the  true 
God.  There  were  few  or  none  others  to  join  him  in 
public  prayer  or  praise.  Yet  he  reared  an  altar  about 


246  LIFE  LESSONS. 

which  others  might  gather.  How  heartily  lie  would  have 
welcomed  them  if  they  had  come  to  join  him  in  the  sac- 
rifice ! 

So  wherever  there  is  a  Christian  family,  although  the 
only  one  in  the  community,  there  should  be  the  nucleus, 
the  center,  of  a  Christian  church.  Let  the  wide  waters 
of  worldliness  stretch  like  a  waste  around — there  should 
be  an  island,  or  at  least  an  ark  of  refuge.  There  a  testi- 
mony should  be  borne  for  God  ;  there  a  standard  set  up  to 
gladden  and  cheer  the  eye  of  every  pious  beholder. 

You  must  sometimes  have  felt  the  beauty  of  that  sym- 
bol of  Christian  worship,  as  journeying  far  away,  you 
have  caught  sight  of  some  humble  village  church,  with 
the  clustering  dwellings  reposing  in  quiet  peace  beneath 
the  shadow  of  its  spire  pointing  like  a  finger  to  heaven. 
There  it  stood  the  type  of  a  common  worship,  the  mon- 
ument rising  aloft  to  greet  the  eye  of  the  traveler  on  his 
journey  and  the  laborer  at  his  toil.  There  it  stood,  in  the 
silent  eloquence  of  its  very  aspect,  preaching  every  day  as 
well  as  Sabbath,  lessons  of  interest  above  the  dreams  of 
mammon  or  the  schemes  of  gain — speaking  of  holy  themes, 
and  kindling  memories  of  the  scenes  it  has  witnessed 
within  its  walls,  of  humble  penitence  an'd  lofty  praise. 
There  it  stood  more  significant  than  the  Pharos  of  the 
Egyptian  coast,  more  thrilling  than  monuments  of  Revo- 
lutionary valor,  with  a  moral  grandeur  in  its  unassuming 
simplicity  that  casts  contempt  on  marble  piles.  Strike  it 
from  the  scene  and  you  have  left  nothing  in  the  framed 
landscape  but  a  cheerless  background,  a  community  with- 
out a  temple,  a  people  without  an  altar. 

But  more  essential  than  public,  is  household  piety,  and 
the  first  is  vain  without  the  last.  Prayerless  families 


THE   TENT  AND    THE  ALTAR. 


247 


may  form  an  intelligent,  but  not  a  devout  assembly,  and 
we  know  full  well,  that  sometimes  when  the  arm  of  per- 
secution has  scattered  the  flock,  religion  has  withdrawn 
to  the  quiet  retreats  of  the  fireside,  and  a  lofty  devotion 
has  breathed  its  prayer  or  sent  up  the  incense  of  its  praise 
from  humblest  homes.  Piety  has  found  a  shelter  in 
scenes  too  obscure  to  invite  the  notice  of  persecuting 
malice,  and  in  forest  glooms,  or  even  the  caves  of  the 
earth,  the  tent,  and  the  altar,  have  still  been  conjoined. 
We  love  to  think  how  the  exiled  pilgrims,  who  laid  the 
foundations  of  empire  on  these  western  shores,  with  a 
pious  impulse  wiser  than  the  statesman's  sagacity,  scarcely 
waited  to  frame  their  own  rude  cabins  to  shelter  them 
from  the  blast,  before  they  laid  the  foundations  of  the 
village  church,  so  that  every  civil  and  social  institution 
might  be  developed  under  the  fostering  influence  of  the 
fear  of  God.  Our  sympathies  go  with  them  into  the  deep 
forest,  where,  as  they  mark  the  trees  that  will  serve  to 
rear  their  own  dwelling,  they  spare  with  careful  foresight 
those  that  can  be  framed  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord's 
house.  And  when  the  humble  fabric  rises,  and  with  it 
the  gratitude  of  those  that  rear  it,  and  each  rude  cabin 
nestles  as  it  may  beneath  its  shade,  we  think  of  the  piety 
of  the  old  Jewish  patriarch,  and  of  tent  and  altar  insep- 
arably associated  together  ;  but  dearer  to  memory  than 
all  this  is  that  scene  of  family  devotion  where  young  and 
old  kneel  together  beneath  the  humble  roof,  to  pay  their 
common  vows  and  breathe  their  common  prayer.  Here 
is  the  germ  of  the  harvests  of  after  centuries.  Here  are 
training  influences  that  shape  the  destiny  of  generations, 
and  make  the  household  hallowed  as  the  school  for  young 
immortals — the  nursery  of  heaven. 

In  this  is  wisdom.     Let  the  tent  and  the  altar  go  to- 


248  LIFE  LESSONS. 

gether  ;  let  them  never  be  dissociated.  For  there  is 
common  acknowledgment  of  God  due  from  each  house- 
hold. The  family  bond  unites  individuals  together  by 
the  strongest  of  all  earthly  ties.  Its  several  members  are 
associated  together  in  the  closest  intimacy.  They  sleep 
beneath  the  same  roof,  meet  at  the  same  table,  converse 
on  the  same  subjects,  are  familiar  with  the  same  scenes. 
They  exert  upon  one  another  a  mutual  influence,  and 
breathe  one  common  atmosphere  of  thought  and  feeling. 
Insensibly  they  acquire  kindred  tastes.  They  reflect 
each  other's  views.  They  adopt  the  same  standards  of 
judgment.  The  same  books  and  papers  fall  under  their 
eye,  and  the  same  friendships  often  draw  them  into  the 
same  circles.  Their  interests,  moreover,  are  kindred,  if 
not  identical.  The  same  events  excite  a  common  inter- 
est, or  enkindle  like  emotions.  In  their  hopes  and  fears, 
their  joys  and  griefs,  their  hearts  beat  with  the  same 
impulse,  and  the  reverse  or  success  of  one  affects  them 
all.  Daily  intercourse  strengthens  bonds  of  association, 
draws  them  closer  and  makes  them  dearer  to  one  another. 
The  same  blessings  are  largely  poured  into  their  common 
cup,  the  same  calamity  embitters  their  common  lot.  The 
reputation  of  one,  to  some  extent,  involves  that  of  all, 
and  the  honor  or  disgrace  of  one  is  reflected  back  upon 
every  other  member. 

Looking  up,  then,  as  they  do,  to  the  same  heavenly 
guardianship,  dependent  as  they  are  upon  the  same 
Providence,  fed  by  the  same  hand,  sustained  and  spared 
by  the  same  mercy,  and  cherishing  the  hope  that  all  the 
changes  of  time  that  may  yet  separate  them  on  earth, 
and  all  the  events  which  may  open  for  them  widely  sun- 
dered graves,  shall  not  obstruct  their  blest  reunion  in 
heaven ;  shall  they  not  unite  in  a  common  acknowledg- 


THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR. 


249 


merit  of  the  same  weakness  and  the  same  dependence,  the 
same  duty  and  the  same  need,  the  same  God  and  the 
game  Saviour  ?  Should  there  not  be  some  token  of  unity 
in  religious  conviction,  some  manifestation  of  their  kin- 
dred interest  in  the  same  divine  truth  ?  Shall  they  meet 
at  a  common  table,  and  not  kneel  at  the  same  altar  ? 
Shall  they  share  in  kindred  earthly  joys  and  hopes,  only 
to  be  estranged  from  all  sympathy  in  those  of  heaven  ? 

But  to  be  more  specific,  they  have  common  needs,  com- 
mon wants,  common  dangers.  They  are  alike  mortal, 
dependent,  exposed,  tempted,  tried.  Must  not  each,  as 
well  as  all,  say,  "  I  am  a  sinner  :  I  have  an  evil  heart  of 
unbelief :  I  need  the  renewing  grace  and  the  guiding 
spirit  of  God  ?  Must  not  every  one  acknowledge  the  obli- 
gation to  the  same  obedience,  the  claims  of  the  same  ho- 
liness, the  necessity  of  a  like  preparation  for  meeting 
God  ?  Can  one  fall  into  danger  and  the  others  not  suffer 
with  him  ?  Can  one  indulge  in  sin,  and  the  others  escape 
the  influence  of  his  disobedience  ?  Example  has  there  pre- 
eminently a  contagious  power.  The  same  modes  of  error, 
like  the  same  modes  of  speech,  tone  and  language,  are  some- 
times to  be  found ;  and  the  correction  for  one  is  that  for 
all.  They  must  consequently  look  to  the  same  Provi- 
dence to  guard  them,  the  same  wisdom  to  guide  them, 
and  the  same  mercy  to  blot  out  their  sin  ?  Shall  they 
not  then  adopt  one  confession  ?  Shall  they  not  lean  to- 
gether upon  one  arm  ?  Shall  they  not  alike  bow  in  peni- 
tence, shall  they  not  send  up  the  united  petition  for  the 
same  grace  ? 

But  they  have,  moreover,  common  favors  and  blessings 
from  the  same  divine  source,  and  these  demand  a  united 
thanksgiving.  As  sickness  carries  distress,  and  death 
mourning,  through  a  household,  so  the  welfare  of  each  is 


250 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


a  common  joy  for  which  all  are  to  be  grateful.  Life, 
health,  strength,  food,  raiment,  shelter,  the  social  bles- 
sings of  home,  wisdom  for  all  from  the  same  Bible,  grace 
from  the  same  divine  fountain,  redemption  from  the  one 
Redeemer ;  do  not  these  demand  a  common  gratitude,  and 
a  common  expression  of  that  gratitude  ?  Shall  all  other 
emotions  be  shared  and  deepened  by  intimate  associa- 
tion, and  these  of  grateful  love  to  the  Great  Giver  fail  to 
be  thus  cherished  ?  Who  does  not  see  the  guilt  of  so 
marked  an  exception?  Who  does  not  feel  the  incon- 
sistency of  such  a  course  ? 

But  they  have,  moreover,  we  will  fondly  believe, 
something  common  in  their  hopes.  However  varied  in 
some  respects  their  condition,  they  have  not  relinquished, 
they  cannot  relinquish,  the  cheering  prospect  of  a  com- 
mon home  in  heaven.  They  will  cling  through  varied 
scenes  to  the  sacred  thought — that  all  earthly  separations 
or  wanderings  shall  not  obstruct  their  final  reunion  in 
the  same  fold  of  the  great  and  good  Shepherd.  Shall 
they  not  then  unite  in  those  acts  of  prayer  and  praise 
which  seem  at  least  to  give  some  warrant  for  the  hope  ; 
which  seem  to  offer  an  outward  pledge  of  that  common 
sympathy  which  alone  can  ever  unite  them  in  the  har- 
mony of  the  redeemed  in  heaven  ?  What  a  very  mock- 
ery of  all  reasonable  hope  that  would  be,  which  had  not 
the  basis  of  even  a  common  recognition,  a  common  ac- 
knowledgement ! 

But  beyond  all  this,  family  religion  as  manifested  at 
least  by  family  worship,  gives  to  the  fireside  a  congenial 
charm.  It  sheds  a  sanctity  over  all  the  relations  of 
family  intercourse.  It  makes  home,  in  a  measure,  what 
it  should  be,  some  feeble  type  at  least  of  the  hallowed 
home  of  the  great  family  above.  That  common  prayer, 


THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR.  251 

that  common  praise,  are  telegraphic  lines,  as  it  were, 
reaching  from  the  hearthstone  up  to  the  throne  before 
which  angels  bow.  The  earthly  household  becomes  the 
type  of  the  great  household  of  faith.  Earthly  brother- 
hood is  recognized  as  the  type  of  that  by  which  all  shall 
say  without  one  discordant  tone,  "  Our  Father  which  art  t 
in  heaven." 

Family  religion  is  the  best  safeguard  also  of  the  future 
welfare  of  the  family.  The  scenes  of  coming  years  on 
which  childhood  is  entering  now,  are  full  of  danger. 
The  tempter  is  there.  Thousands  have  already  fallen, 
and  thousands  more  are  exposed.  Your  child,  the  mem- 
bers of  your  family,  with  the  swift  flight  of  time,  are 
hurrying  forth  to  mingle  in  those  scenes,  to  risk  those 
hazards.  You  are  to  guard  them  by  your  counsel ;  you 
are  to  arm  them  for  the  strife.  And  how  shall  they  go 
forth  ?  With  what  preparation  will  you  let  them  venture 
where  so  many  have  fallen  ?  Have  you  nothing  to  incul- 
cate but  worldly  prudence  ?  Have  you  no  sword  to  put 
into  their  hand  but  that  of  mere  intellectual  training  ? 
You  may  have  wealth  to  bestow  upon  them,  but  that  very 
wealth  may  prove  a  curse.  You  may  train  them  to  in- 
dustrious and  moral  habits,  but  these  have  often  proved 
but  a  vain  security  for  time,  to  say  nothing  of  their  utter 
incompetence  for  eternal  issues.  Is  there  not  something 
more  necessary  ?  And  what  is  it  ?  Your  own  convic- 
tions anticipate  me  when  I  say  that  more  than  industry, 
intellectual  training  or  wealth,  must  religious  principle 
avail — that  principle  which  has  been  nurtured  at  the 
family  altar,  and  which  has  thenceforth  been  strengthened 
by  every  memory  of  early  years.  If  you  would  disarm 
the  power  of  temptation  for  them  when  they  are  called 
to  meet  it,  let  the  very  aspect  of  the  Satanic  bribe  be  re- 


252 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


buked  by  a  reviving  of  those  scenes  where  all  knelt  in 
prayer  around  the  fireside,  and  the  words  of  the  sacred 
volume  made  the  thought  of  sin  terrible,  and  the  glories 
of  holiness  attractive.  Let  them  carry  with  them,  ever 
hung  conspicuous  on  the  walls  of  memory,  the  picture  of 
life's  early  experience,  hallowed  by  associations  of  praise 
and  worship.  Let  the  scenes  of  home  come  back  to  them, 
never  without  that  foremost  feature  of  the  family  altar  ; 
never  to  be  conceived  of  except  as  associated  with  the 
high  claims  of  religious  duty. 

Surely  the  example  of  Abraham  is  one  that  commends 
itself  to  every  parent.  The  tent  and  the  altar  should 
ever  be  conjoined.  Every  household  should  be  the  sanc- 
tuary of  a  hallowed  affection,  the  earthly  image  of  the 
family  of  heaven.  Religion  should  be  there,  not  in  mere 
form,  but  in  its  living  spirit ;  not  as  a  mere  outward  cere- 
monial, but  as  an  inspiring  principle.  Let  the  busy  world 
be  what  it  may,  this  should  be  an  Eden  lighted  up  with 
the  smile  of  God,  blest  with  that  peace  which  comes  only 
from  Him  whose  advent  to  earth  kindled  the  rapt  songs 
of  angels.  Here,  at  least,  should  be  an  ark  floating  securely 
over  a  sin- deluged  world.  Here  youthful  minds  and 
hearts  should  find  a  nursery  for  heaven.  Parental  influ- 
ence and  example  should  bear  the  aspect,  not  of  a  cold, 
formal  propriety,  but  of  a  fervent,  cheerful,  living  faith  in 
God.  With  his  earliest  thoughts,  the  child  should  learn 
to  know  his  Maker's  goodness,  should  recognize  with 
gratitude  His  care  and  providence.  Here  each  opening 
mind  should  be  led  to  unfold  itself  to  the  beams  of 
heavenly  love,  and  the  earliest  consciousness  should  be 
made  familiar  with  the  idea  of  duty  to  God. 

But  how  can  this  be,  if  the  tent  and  the  altar  are  dis- 
joined ?  Ho\v  can  it  be  in  the  home  where  religion  is  a 


THE  TENT  AND  THE  ALTAR. 


253 


stranger  ?  How  can  it  be  in  the  place  where  the  voice 
of  prayer  and  praise  is  never  heard,  and  a  sinful  neglect 
of  known  duty  only  serves  to  commend  irreligion.  Ah  1 
there  is  a  teaching  in  silence,  a  sermon  in  neglect !  But 
it  preaches  negatives.  It  says,  "  No  love,  no  duty  ;  no 
obedience,  no  law  ;  no  judgment,  no  heaven,  no  hell ;  no 
Saviour,  no  God."  And  who  would  venture  to  give  it  a 
tongue  for  such  utterance,  a  tongue  to  whisper  in  the 
ears  of  childhood  the  fond  and  fatal  delusion. 


XXIX. 

LIFE'S  TEARS  AND  HARVEST. 

"He  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,  shall  doubtless 
come  again,  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with  him." — Ps.  cxxvi.  6. 

THE  world  is  full  of  contrasts,  but  contrasts  often 
strangely  linked  together.  Youth  and  age  are 
strung  on  the  thread  of  our  common  life.  Seed-time  and 
harvest  are  revolving  spokes  in  a  common  wheel.  You 
never  see  prosperity  but  there  is  a  glimpse  of  adversity 
in  the  background.  The  halls  of  the  reveler  are  strangely 
kindred  to  the  cold  garret  where  wretchedness  lies  on 
its  bed  of  straw.  It  is  hard  work  to  move  graveyards 
out  of  sight  of  mammon's  busiest  walks.  The  light 
frivolities  or  sinful  indulgence  of  youth  are  the  downward 
steps  of  a  staircase  that  lands  us  among  rags,  and  sighs, 
and  blighted  prospects.  The  sparkle  of  the  wine-cup  de- 
generates into  that  phosphorescence  of  moral  death  that 
gleams  from  the  decanters  of  the  grogshop. 

And  so,  also,  the  true  success  of  life  stands  out  from  a 
background  of  self-denying  toil,  of  struggle,  and  hardship, 
and  manly  endurance.  The  rich  harvest-field,  waving  in 
its  beauty  to  the  breath  of  the  winds,  speaks  of  labor 
and  culture,  and  the  hard- won  victory  over  a  stubborn 
soil.  The  bow  of  hope  that  spans  the  close  of  life's  pil- 
grimage is  hung  on  clouds  of  care  and  trial,  if  not  of  sore 
calamity. 

254 


LIFERS  TEARS  AND  HARVEST.  255 

"  The  path  of  sorrow,  and  that  path  alone, 
Leads  to  the  world  where  sorrow  is  unknown. 
No  traveler  ever  reached  that  blest  abode, 
Who  found  not  thorns  and  briars  in  his  road." 

Scripture  expresses  the  thought  in  words  not  less  beau- 
tiful :  "  He  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  pre- 
cious seed,  shall  doubtless  return  again  with  rejoicing, 
bringing  his  sheaves  with  him." 

Final  success — the  joy  of  life's  ripe  harvest — is  the 
goal  of  our  hopes.  No  wise  or  thoughtful  man  will  live 
merely  for  to-day.  The  pilgrim  who  seeks  a  home  is  not 
content  to  linger  and  loiter  for  the  mere  flowers  beside 
his  way.  The  sower  looks  onward  to  fields  white  and 
ready  for  the  sickle.  Wisdom  has  regard  to  the  grand 
issue.  The  triumph  or  the  pleasure  of  to-day  is  transi- 
tory. We  want  a  hope  that  does  not  sink  with  the  set- 
ting sun.  The  true  success  of  life  is  that  which  does 
not  fail  the  evening  of  our  days,  and  leave  them  to  blight 
or  barrenness.  We  want  that  shout  of  "  harvest  home," 
that  will  not  die  into  silence  with  the  failing  breath,  but ' 
makes  the  passage  of  the  grave  a  whispering-gallery  where 
heaven  and  earth  talk  together. 

Many  mistake  in  their  ideal  of  what  constitutes  the 
true  success  of  life.  That  man  who  comes  back  from 
the  field  of  probation's  toil,  rejoicing  and  bringing  his 
sheaves  with  him — he  who  is  heir  to  God's  "well  done" 
— is  not  the  world-applauded  hero,  not  the  man  who  has 
piled  up  the  largest  heap  of  wealth,  not  the  man  that 
has  drawn  most  notice,  but  he  who  in  proportion  to  his 
talents  can  show  the  most  permanent  good  done ;  he 
who,  though  he  has  but  few  sheaves,  has  those  of  wheat 
and  not  tares,  whose  life-work  has  built  not  "  hay,  wood 
and  stubble,"  but  "silver,  gold,  precious  stones."  He 


256  LIFE  LESSONS. 

comes  back  rejoicing — with  that  joy  that  flows  from 
knowing  that  his  work  is  done,  and  has  not  been  alto- 
gether vain — that  he  has  sheaves  for  heaven's  garner, 
grown  of  precious  seed,  and  that  into  the  presence  of  the 
great  householder  he  can  go  and  say  humbly,  but  hopefully, 
"  Thy  talents  have  gained  five  talents  more."  •  Here  is 
true  success ;  not  that  hailed  by  the  acclaim  of  applauding 
thousands,  not  that  which  was  won  by  a  favoring  turn 
of  fortune's  wheel,  not  that  of  pomp  and  triumphant 
parade,  but  that  of  an  approving  conscience,  and  the 
smile  of  Heaven ;  that  of  works  that  will  outlive  their 
author,  works  that  will  follow  him. 

It  is  not  without  significance  that  a  man  is  presented 
before  us  as  going  forth  weeping,  bearing  precious  seed. 
By  this  we  are  taught  that  he  must  have  a  tearful  anxi- 
ety, such  a  deep  sense  of  the  greatness  and  arduousness 
of  his  task  as  will  make  him  weep  before  God.  and  he 
must  sow  the  right  seed,  direct  his  energies  in  that  chan- 
nel which  will  produce  the  best  as  well  as  the  largest 
harvest. 

No  man  ever,  as  a  general  thing,  accomplishes  much 
without  a  deep,  if  not  burdening  sense  of  what  he  under- 
takes. It  is  so  in  temporal  things.  It  is  so  in  spiritual. 
The  great  works  of  life  are  no  holiday  by-plays.  A  man 
must  not  go  to  his  work-shop  or  counting-room  toying  or 
trifling.  He  that  would  carry  out  his  business  projects 
to  a  successful  issue,  must  make  care  and  toil  his  part- 
ners. He  must  struggle  with  the  tide  of  events,  and 
turn  it  into  the  channel  of  his  designs.  He  must  not 
shrink  from  vigilance  and  anxiety.  He  must  be  prepared 
to  battle  long  and  well  with  adversity.  And  so  it  is  with 
the  pursuit  of  spiritual  good,  the  mastery  of  self,  the 


LIFE'S  TEARS  AND  HARVEST. 


257 


victory  over  sin,  the  rebuke  of  surrounding  wickedness, 
the  culture  of  grace  in  one's  own  and  others7  hearts. 
The  greatness  of  the  task  must  be  felt,  felt  even  to 
tears,  felt  to  the  measure  of  a  tearful  prayerfulness. 

And  the  true  work  of  a  Christian's  life  aiming  at  final 
success,  is  great  enough  to  warrant  this.  It  is  a  great 
battle.  It  is  a  struggle  to  absorb  the  soul's  entire  ener- 
gies. To  win  heaven,  to  make  our  calling  and  election 
sure,  to  keep  the  light  of  holy  example  bright  amid  sur- 
rounding darkness,  to  carry  the  standard  of  truth  right 
through  the  bustling  crowds  of  worldliness — this  is  no 
easy  task.  It  demands  that  anxiety  which  will  press  the 
energies  of  the  whole  man  out  into  action.  To  do  our 
duty  by  ourselves — to  master  sin  within  and  temptation 
without — to  do  our  duty  by  others  and  bring  them  as 
far  as  we  may  to  the  Saviour,  it  burdened  the  soul  of 
an  Apostle ;  it  might  task  the  powers  of  an  angel.  It 
calls  for  an  anxiety  that  will  flow  forth  in  prayer  and 
tears,  tears  that  the  soul  weeps  and  not  the  eye,  tears 
that  God  sees  and  not  man. 

And  another  element  of  success  is  that  we  go  forth 
bearing  precious  seed.  There  is  care  and  anxiety  enough 
in  the  world  if  only  directed  into  the  right  channel  ; 
there  is  seed  enough  sown  if  it  was  only  of  the  right 
kind.  But  the  tares  and  weeds  outnumber  the  wheat. 
The  botany  of  the  moral  is  as  rich  as  that  of  the  natural 
world.  The  thorns  and  thistles,  the  perplexities  and 
cares  that  men  sow  for  their  harvests  are  innumerable. 
How  much  of  the  seed  laboriously  sown  by  men  is  worth- 
less, or  worse.  It  grows  up  to  pain,  and  guilt,  and 
anguish,  and  accusing  memories.  Men  sow  to  the  wind 
to  reap  the  whirlwind.  All  the  sorrows  and  calamities 
of  life  almost — its  disappointments,  and  disgusts,  and  de- 


258  LIFE  LESSONS. 

spair — come  from  the  seed  sown.  Stupidity  or  reckless- 
ness never  stops  to  ask  what  it  is,  whether  precious  or 
worthless.  The  man  who  casts  the  seed  of  wasted  years, 
of  selfish  or  worldly  anxieties,  into  the  soil  he  cultivates, 
knows  not  what  he  does,  and,  when  time  shows  him  his 
mistake,  he  sees  too  late  that  his  own  hands  planted  it. 
Some  men  sow  seeds  of  poison  to  embitter  all  their  after 
years  ;  some  scatter  seeds  that  spring  up  to  mere  useless 
shrubs  ;  some  sow  the  seed  of  their  vices,  that  multiply 
and  spread  their  curse  like  the  Canada  thistle,  over- 
running the  farmer's  fields.  Precious  seed  there  is,  but 
it  comes  from  God's  patent-office  ;  it  is  seed  that  springs 
up  into  a  life  of  piety,  devotion,  and  usefulness  ;  it  is  the 
seed  of  holy  aims  and  strivings  ;  the  seed  of  charity,  in- 
tegrity, and  self-denial.  It  is  such  seed  as  Christ  sowed 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  or  by  the  well  of  Samaria, 
or  among  the  famished  thousands  of  the  desert ;  such  as 
Paul  scattered  broadcast  over  the  Roman  empire  ;  such 
as  time  sifts  out  of  the  lives  of  good  men  in  faithful  duties 
done,  and  holy  examples  set,  and  kindly  words  uttered  ; 
such  as  the  faithful  parent  drops  into  the  soil  of  the 
young  heart  springing  up  to  all  generous,  and  humane, 
and  heavenward  strivings  ;  such  as  falls  lightly  as  the 
snowflake  about  the  hearthstone  where  the  home-group 
kneel  to  pray  ;  such  as  the  Sabbath  teacher  drops  into 
young  and  tender  hearts,  that  it  may  grow  with  their 
growth  and  strengthen  with  their  strength  ;  such  is  the 
seed  precious  beyond  all  price,  the  harvest  of  which 
shall  be  rich  in  more  than  golden  sheaves.  As  he  that 
turns  a  desert  to  a  garden  does  a  more  useful  work  than 
he  that  built  the  pyramids,  so  he  that  turns  one  soul  to 
righteousness,  or  keeps  his  own  from  the  pollutions  of  the 
world,  does  a  work  that  will  invoke  blessings  on  its 


LIFE* 8  TEARS  AND  HARVEST. 


259 


author  when  lizards  crawl  over  the  monuments  of  nobles 
and  of  kings.  The  seed  he  plants  is  that  of  the  spread- 
ing banyan-tree  of  grace,  that  will  live  on  and  stirl  extend 
when  the  frosts  of  time  shall  have  withered  the  weeds 
and  sedges  that  bloomed  and  thrived,  as  human  wealth 
or  greatness,  for  a  summer's  day.  A  man  may  toil  as 
hard  to  plant  thorns  as  grapes.  He  may  spend  as  much 
labor  in  rearing  shrub  oaks  as  cedars  of  Lebanon  ;  and 
so  a  man  may  sow  to  the  flesh  and  of  the  flesh  reap 
corruption,  and  it  may  cost  him  as  much  care  and  effort 
as  if  he  sowed  to  the  Spirit,  and  of  the  Spirit  reaped  life 
everlasting. 

The  wise  farmer  is  careful  in  the  seed  he  selects.  It 
costs  no  more  to  plant  the  good  than  the  bad.  A  man 
may  sweat  and  tire  as  much  in  sowing  chaff  and  sawdust 
as  in  sowing  wheat  ;  and  when  we  look  at  the  field  of 
the  world,  we  seem  to  see  men  who,  oblivious  of  the  na- 
ture and  bearing  of  their  efforts,  are  spending,  in  the 
mere  pursuit  of  personal  and  selfish  objects,  those  ener- 
gies which,  wisely  directed,  might  lay  up  a  treasure  for 
them  in  heaven.  No  matter  how  hard  they  toil,  the 
more  miserable  will  be  their  failure  if  they  have  not  the 
precious  seed ;  no  matter  how  abundant  their  returns, 
if  they  be  but  weeds,  and  straw,  and  stubble  ;  no  matter 
what  shrewdness  and  skill  they  may  display  in  accumu- 
lating a  bulky  crop,  if,  on  God's  threshing-floor,  not  a  grain 
of  wheat  can  be  winnowed  out.  You  might  go  through  the 
community  and  sum  up  the  attainments  of  thousands  of 
busy  lives,  and  when  you  subject  them  to  the  only  real 
test  of  what  they  have  accomplished  for  God  and  man, 
they  are,  with  all  their  imposing  array  and  splendor,  no 
better  than  great  Babylon,  that  golden  head  of  the  king- 
doms, when  "  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  want- 


Z6o  LIFE  LES80NS. 

ing."  An  air-bubble  may  be  as  brilliant  and  more  bulky 
than  a  jewel,  but  it  dissolves  at  a  touch  ;  and  so  death 
touches«the  splendid  fortune,  or  the  honored  reputation, 
and  it  breaks,  with  all  its  glitter,  and  disappears  forever  ; 
while  he  that,  at  the  cost  of  .all  he  had,  has  sought  the 
goodly  pearl,  may  have  it  shining  forever  in  the  crown  of 
his  rejoicing. 

Let  there  be,  then,  that  attention  to  the  seed  you  sow 
which  the  importance  of  the  case  demands.  That  was 
an  ignoble  boast  of  the  ancient  artist,  "  I  paint  for  eter- 
nity," by  the  side  of  him  who,  conscious  of  aspiring  to  a 
harvest  for  the  garner  of  heaven,  can  say,  "  I  sow  for 
eternity."  Not  one  grain  of  his  precious  seed  is,  or  ever 
can  be,  lost.  It  may  sleep  long  beneath  the  cold  clod, 
and  the  wintry  storms  may  seem  to  weave  a  snowy 
shroud  for  its  final  burial,  but  its  hidden  life  will  out- 
burst its  sepulchre  with  the  returning  spring-time,  and 
then  it  will  be  seen,  that,  while  the  schemes  of  statesman- 
ship were  brushed  by  time  like  the  spider's  webs,  and 
colossal  fortunes  vanished  like  a  dream,  and  a  fame  that 
the  world  echoed  died  in  whispers,  the  kindly  counsel, 
the  holy  example,  the  self-denying  charity,  the  lowly  be- 
neficence of  the  good  man  were  springing  up  to  a  harvest 
over  which  the  jubilee  of  angels  should  break  enrap- 
tured. 

"  He  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious 
seed,  shall  doubtless  return  again  rejoicing,  bringing  his 
sheaves  with  him."  Doubtless  !  You  may  rely  upon  it. 
It  is  the  sure  result  %f  His  ordinance  who  has  declared 
that  seed-time  and  harvest  shall  not  fail.  It  may  some- 
times seem  to  be  otherwise.  There  are  those  who  toil 
on  prayerfully  and  tearfully  to  life's  close,  and  see  little 
fruit  of  their  efforts  ;  but  many  times  their  works  follow 


LIFE'S  TEARS  AN&  HARVEST.  261 

them.  When  their  dust  has  been  given  to  the  grave, 
and  men  have  read  tkeir  name  only  on  their  monument, 
some  lingering  memory  that  seemed  dry  and  dead  has 
bloomed  afresh,  and  the  very  words  uttered  in  the  weak- 
ness of  their  dying  breath  have  been  the  down  that 
floated  a  seed  for  eternity  to  a  spot  where  it  found  a  con- 
genial soil,  and  rooted  and  grew  up  to  a  noble  life,  or  to 
generous  deeds.  Then  at  last,  perhaps,  it  was  remem- 
bered, that  long  ago  in  humble,  lowly  striving,  some  child 
of  God  had  prepared  the  field  and  sowed  the  seed  for 
the  harvest  that  gladdens  the  heart  of  angel  reapers ; 
that,  in  the  calm  assurance  of  faith,  hoping  against  hope, 
and  struggling  with  discouragement,  a  godly  zeal  or 
heavenly  endurance  laid  the  foundation  for  all  these 
results. 

Look  yonder  at  that  little  group  on  the  Grecian  shores 
of  ancient  Miletus,  and  see  how  at  the  words  of  that 
saintly  man,  who  stands  among  them,  the  tears  are  start- 
ing from  many  an  eye  ;  and,  at  last,  about  to  bid  them 
farewell,  he  kneels  down  and  prays  with  them  all.  See, 
how  with  sore  weeping,  they  fall  upon  his  neck,  and  kiss 
him,  sorrowing  that  they  shall  behold  his  face  no  more.  It 
is  the  Apostle  Paul  and  the  elders  of  the  Church  at 
Ephesus,  but  that  Apostle  goes  forth  weeping,  bearing 
precious  seed,  the  seed  of  the  Word  of  God,  and  if  you 
wait  a  few  years  more,  you  shall  hear  a  voice  of  triumph 
issuing  from  his  Roman  prison  :  "  I  have  fought  the  good 
fight,  I  have  kept  the  faith,  and  henceforth  there  is  laid 
up  for  me  a  crown  of  life."  Ah !  there  is  the  joy  of  the 
laborer  returning  from  the  harvest-field,  bringing  his 
sheaves  with  him. 

Gaze  yonder  on  the  northern  coast  of  the  African  con- 
tinent, and  look  at  that  desolate  home  of  a  widowed 


262  LIFE  LESSONS. 

mother  and  her  only  son.  She  is  a  Christian  woman,  and 
long  and  well  has  she  toiled  and  prayed  that  the  heart 
of  her  child  might  be  renewed  and  sanctified.  But  the 
years  pass  on,  and  learning,  and  philosophy,  and  hu- 
man speculations,  and  passionate  indulgence,  possess  his 
thoughts,  and  every  day  carries  him  further  from  the 
path  of  Christian  hope.  Tears  flow  in  secret,  and  many 
a  heart-coined  prayer  goes  up  for  his  recovery,  but  there 
is  no  change.  The  widowed  mother  goes  sadly  to  her 
pastor,  and  opens  to  him  her  burdens  and  her  griefs,  but 
in  a  faith  built  upon  the  assurance  that  he  that  sows  in 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy,  he  bids  her  still  hope  that  grace 
will  not  let  the  child  of  faith  and  prayer  be  wholly  lost. 
A  few  years  pass  on,  and  you  see  that  way  ward;  paganized, 
ambitious  youth,  the  venerable  Bishop  of  the  ancient 
Church,  and  the  admiring  reverence  of  after  centuries 
knows  him  as  St.  Augustine.  She  that  went  forth  and 
wept,  bearing  precious  seed  may  come  again  rejoicing  in 
the  abundant  harvest  of  her  prayer  and  toil. 

There,  again,  is  the  faithful  Sabbath-school  teacher. 
Burdensome  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  souls  committed 
to  his  care,  makes  him  feel  the  arduousriess  of  the  task 
he  has  undertaken.  To  gain  their  attention,  to  imbue 
their  minds  with  heavenly  truth,  to  lead  them  to  the 
Lamb  of  God  ;  all  this  is  a  work  to  try  the  faith,  and  ex- 
cite apprehension.  But  with  a  tearful  faith  in  God  the 
seed  is  sown.  No  promise  of  a  harvest,  perhaps,  appears. 
The  pupils  are  scattered  abroad  over  the  wide  world, 
and  no  track  of  them  can  be  kept.  But  afar  away,  on 
shipboard,  in  the  silent  watch  on  deck,  or  in  the  solitudes 
of  the  great  prairies,  or  in  some  strange  and  distant  city, 
the  memory  of  those  Sabbaths  comes  back,  and  the  wan- 
dering scholar  thinks  how  like  the  prodigal  he  is,  and 


LIFERS  TEARS  AND  HARVEST.  263 

God's  spirit  carries  the  conviction  home,  and  so,  afar  off 
in  time  and  place,  he  is  brought  near  to  God,  and,  at 
length,  it  may  be  that  he  meets  that  teacher,  and  glad- 
dens his  heart  with  the  story  of  God's  gracious  dealings, 
till  he  who  went  forth  weeping  bearing  precious  seed 
feels  that  ho  can  return  rejoicing  bringing  his  sheaves 
with  him. 

Take  another  illustration.  Here  is  a  poor,  unfortunate 
child  of  want  and  sorrow.  Pain,  and  grief,  and  afflic- 
tion have  been  his  lot.  He  has  suffered  long  and  much, 
sometimes  from  human  coldness  and  harshness ;  some- 
times from  disease,  or  the  anguish  of  bereavement.  But, 
with  all  this,  he  has  hope  in  God.  Tears  indeed  are  his 
meat  and  drink,  but  the  fear  of  sinning  against  that  great 
and  good  Being,  who  has  left  him  so  many  mercies  still 
— fear  lest  he  betray  complaining  or  ingratitude,  is  his 
greatest  anxiety.  There  he  lies,  perhaps  almost  helpless, 
on  his  straw-bed  in  a  garret,  but  gathering  up  from 
his  precious  Bible  sweet  words  of  counsel  and  of  prom- 
ise, and  dropping  them  one  by  one  into  his  memory,  till 
they  root  there  deep  and  strong,  and  nothing  can  tear 
them  up. 

He  seems  to  me  like  the  sower  going  forth  weeping, 
bearing  precious  seed,  only  his  own  heart  is  the  field, 
and  God's  word  and  God's  rich  grace  are  the  precious 
seed  ;  but  I  know  that  the  harvest  will  come,  ah !  it  has 
come  already,  in  that  calm  submission,  that  cheerful  faith, 
that  heavenly  hope,  that  make  the  sufferer's  bed  preach 
to  the  world  the  blessedness  of  a  believer's  portion. 

Such  are  some  of  the  abundant  lessons  which  God  sets 
before  us  to  impress  upon  us  the  truth  of  his  word.  The 
world  is  full  of  them.  He  that  would  come  back  from 
life's  harvest-field  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with 


264  LIFE  LESSONS. 

him,  must  be  prepared  to  go  forth  weeping  bearing 
precious  seed.  It  is  not  by  shunning  self-denial  and  du- 
ties7 hardships,  that  the  true  goal  of  life  can  be  won. 
The  path  of  ease  is  not  that  of  heavenly,  any  more  than 
earthly  attainment. 

Look  where  you  will  over  this  busy  earth,  and  you  find 
no  blessing  of  probation  that  has  not  cost  effort  or  self- 
denial.  The  richest  harvests  cost  laborious  culture. 
Even  the  prizes  of  fame  and  ambition  have  been  won  by 
persevering  toil.  The  laborer's  gains  are  moist  with 
sweat,  and  the  soldier's  laurels  drip  with  blood.  The 
heroes  of  faith  have  endured  hardness ;  have  sustained 
the  great "  fight  of  affliction.77  They  have  passed  through 
the  furnace.  Some  of  them  have  run  their  earthly  race 
to  a  fiery  goal.  All  that  will  be  Christ's  disciples  must 
be  cross-bearers.  They  must  be  prepared  to  tread  in 
their  Master's  steps.  They  must  welcome  "  the  narrow 
way.77  They  must  "  sow  in  tears.77 

I  would  not  advocate  a  sad  and  tearful  countenance. 
I  would  not  clothe  religion  in  black,  or  robe  it  in  mourn- 
ing habiliments.  But  I  know  that  life  and  life's  tasks 
are  a  serious  and  solemn  thing.  I  know  that  sin  has 
made  the  world  a  vale  of  tears,  and  no  Eden  can  come 
out  of  it  till  sin,  by  stern  conflict,  is  mastered  and  sub- 
dued. He  that  would  be  a  victor  must  first  act  the 
soldier's  part.  By  prayer,  and  toil,  and  self-mastery — 
leaning  ever  on  the  staff  of  Jehovah — we  must  climb  to 
the  height  from  which  we  fell. 

"  Whoever  thinks,  must  see  that  man  was  made 
To  face  the  storm,  not  languish  in  the  shade. 
Action  's  his  sphere,  and  for  that  sphere  designed, 
Eternal  pleasures  open  on  the  mind." 


XXX. 

WALKING  IN  THE  TRUTH. 

"I  have  no  greater  joy  than  to  hear  that  my  children  walk  in  truth." 

3  JOHN  4. 

^*  rr^Q  walk  in  truth  1"    What  an  expressive  phrase ! 
A     How  full  of  meaning  ! 

There  are  some  men  who  walk  in  falsehood.  You 
might  write  their  biography  in  a  tomb-stone  epitaph,  that 
might  almost  make  the  marble  blush — "  a  thirty,  forty, 
fifty,  seventy  years'  lie."  It  is  false  to  God,  false  to  con- 
science, false  to  the  reality  of  things,  false  to  the  eternal 
laws  of  duty  and  righteousness.  It  starts  with  a  false 
principle,  and  ends  in  false  results. 

Such  is  the  life  of  the  hypocrite,  the  man  who  seems 
what  he  is  not ;  who  makes  his  speech  and  manner  and 
professions  a  mask  to  deceive ;  who  murders  truth  and 
integrity,  and  yet  wears  the  robes  of  the  murdered.  In 
his  case,  the  atmosphere  in  which  he  lives  and  breathes  is 
falsehood. 

So  there  are  thousands  whose  life  is  unreal.  They 
live  in  their  own  fancies.  Their  life  is  but  a  dream  of 
fashion  or  pleasure.  As  they  whirl  by  on  their  way  to 
eternity,  they  are  gay,  thoughtless,  heedless.  'They  walk 
in  a  vain  show.  Their  joys  are  hollow  joys.  Their 
troubles  are  fanciful.  Their  talk  is  empty  bubbles,  the 
froth  of  vanity. 

12  (265) 


266  LIFE  LESSONS. 

There  are  others  again  who  would  scorn  a  lie,  who 
would  brand  it  with  infamy,  who  are  yet  false  to  God. 
He  is  their  sovereign,  yet  they  do  not  obey  him.  He  is 
their  master,  but  they  do  not  serve  him.  He  is  their 
Father,  but  they  do  not  honor  him.  To  his  just  claims, 
they  say,  how  often,  like  the  young  man  in  the  parable, 
"  I  go,  sir/7  and  go  not.  They  have  been  entrusted  sol- 
emnly with  talents,  but  they  are  false  to  their  trust. 
They  have  means  of  influence  and,  perhaps,  wealth,  but 
they  are  false  in  their  use. 

And  thus  they  are  false  to  themselves.  They  betray 
their  own  souls.  With  these  in  their  keeping,  they  falsely 
surrender  them  to  sin  and  Satan.  Instead  of  guarding 
them  with  a  truthful  fidelity,  they  leave  them,  with  door 
ajar,  for  Satan  to  enter. 

It  is  not  strange  then  that  they  should  be  false  to  their 
convictions.  They  know  what  is  good,  yet  do  it  not. 
They  feel  that  they  should  be  pious,  yet  they  linger  in 
their  -sins.  They  hear  a  voice  within,  with  Sinai  author- 
ity, calling  them  to  repent,  but  they  are  false  to  its  sum- 
mons. They  see  the  flag  of  duty  waving  over  them,  but 
they  will  not  march  under  the  banner.  They  are  false 
to  the  flag  of  conscience. 

In  common  with  others,  they  are  false  to  the  eternal 
laws  of  righteousness.  These  are  binding  on  us  all. 
Prom  the  seraph  before  the  throne*  to  the  felon  in  his 
cell,  there  is  not  a  moral  agent  in  the  universe  of  God, 
exempt  from  their  obligation,  and  there  is  not  one  who 
does  not  at  times  acknowledge  it.  But  how  many  break 
through  them,  are  disloyal  to  them,  put  duty  under 
bonds  to  pleasure,  insult  the  awful  majesty  of  truth,  do 
despite  to  the  authority  which  legislates  for  eternity  and 
for  the  universe. 


WALKING  IN  THE  TRUTH.  267 

Doubtless  many  of  these  would  scorn  a  downright  lie. 
They  have  been  educated  to  despise  it.  They  discern  in 
it  something  intrinsically  mean  and  odious.  But  their 
idea  of  it  is  that  it  must  be  articulated  in  words,  or  com- 
pacted in  cheats  and  frauds.  They  forget  that  the  very 
spirit  of  it  is  a  Proteus,  that  like  the  rain-drop  it  may  be 
compacted  in  ice  or  expanded  in  vapor,  like  the  pesti- 
»  lence  it  may  walk  in  darkness,  as  well  as  destroy  at  noon- 
day. They  forget  that  the  very  essence  of  all  sin  is  false- 
hood, a  violation  of  truth,  or  truthfulness,  to  God,  man, 
or  the  soul  itself. 

Thus,  we  see  that  the  comprehensive  summary  of  a 
noble  and  upright  life  is  "  to  walk  in  truth."  There  is 
nothing  grander,  purer,  higher.  And  there  is  nothing  so 
exactly  descriptive  of  the  complete  and  perfect  character. 
To  walk  in  truth  is  not  only  to  be  what  we  seem ;  not 
only  to  scorn  masks  ;  not  only  to  shun  the  hollowness  of 
all  that  the  dying  man  pronounces  unreal ;  not  only  to 
withdraw  from  the  path  hung  about  with  shows  and 
pageants  and  shadows,  but  to  walk  as  God's  child,  to  live 
as  the  heir  of  heaven,  to  be  true  at  once  to  truth,  to  con- 
science, and  to  God. 

No  doubt  all  this  was  included  in  the  idea  of  the 
Apostle.  It  was  unquestionably  his  summary  of  a  Chris- 
tian life.  His  highest  idea  of  the  truth  was,  as  Paul 
expresses  it,  "  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.77  He  had  himself 
heard  the  master  say,  "  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the 
life.77  To  him  the  highest  truth,  the  sum  of  all  truth,  the 
sum  itself  of  truth,  of  which  all  science  and  philosophy 
were  but  darkling  rays,  was  Christ  the  Lamb  of  God 
that  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.  To  accept  him 
as  the  great  teacher,  the  great  example,  the  great  atoning 
sacrifice  ;  to  be  found  in  him,  not  having  his  own  right- 


*68  LIFE  LE8SON8. 

eousness  ;  to  be  able  to  say,  "  for  me  to  live  is  Christ," 
"  I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me,77  and  to  walk 
in  his  steps,  the  steps  of  incarnate  truth  itself — this,  be- 
yond question,  was  what  the  Apostle  meant  by  his  ex- 
pressive phrase,  walking  in  truth. 

And  who  doubts  that  the  man  who  is  true  to  God,  ac- 
cording to  the  Bible  standard,  true  to  Christ  as  a  servant 
and  disciple,  will  be  true  in  all  things  else  ?  You  can 
trust  him.  He  lives  under  the  all-seeing  eye.  He  dwells 
in  the  all-pervading  presence.  He  yields  unswerving 
allegiance  to  the  God  of  all  truth.  You  want  no  spies 
to  watch  him,  no  human  statutes  to  bind  him,  no  sureties 
to  make  good  his  word.  Potosi  or  California  coined  into 
gold  could  not  bribe  him.  The  powers  of  earth  and  hell 
could  not  shake  his  integrity. 

Nay,  the  highest  standard  of  Christian  character  and 
virtuous  attainment  is  presented  in  this  walking  in  truth. 
I  could  not  ask  of  any  man,  of  any  Christian,  any  thing 
more  than  to  walk  in  the  truth  of  his  convictions  and 
professions.  Let  him  hold  these  fast,  and  he  will  be  a 
perfect  man.  He  will  not  say  one  thing  and  do  another. 
He  will  not  profess  to  follow  Christ  and  yet  forsake  him. 
He  will  not  assume  to  be  a  child  of  God,  and  yet  by 
worldliness,  selfishness,  and  the  love  of  vanity,  covet  the 
adoption  of  the  Devil.  He  will  be  ever  at  the  post  of 
duty.  He  will  ever  enjoy  that  blessed  music  of  heaven 
which  flows  from  the  harmony  between  conscience  and 
act,  the  disposition  and  its  allotted  task.  He  will  exem- 
plify his  religion  in  word  and  deed.  He  will  tolerate  no 
self-delusion  ;  he  will  abide  under  no  pretense. 

To  see  such  a  man  as  this,  is  a  cheering,  a  noble  sight. 
It  is  the  sublimest  spectacle  beneath  the  stars.  It  does 
one's  heart  good,  it  makes  it  glad,  to  look  at  it.  The 


WALKING  IN  THE  TRUTH.  269 

upheaved  granite,  pushing  its  mountain  peaks  up  into 
the  clouds,  where  the  lightnings  play,  is  grand.  The 
broad  landscape,  where  flowers  bloom  and  trees  wave  on 
the  background  of  silver  lakes  or  azure  skies,  is  beauti- 
ful ;  but  grander  than  the  mountain  and  fairer  than  the 
landscape,  is  the  true  life,  lifting  itself  heavenward,  but 
blooming  like  the  flower  by  the  lowliest  home. 

If  to  see  it  is  so  cheering — to  see  it  afar  off,  in  a 
stranger  that  we  never  knew  before — what  must  it  be  to 
hear  of  it  in  those  we  love,  and  whom  we  have  ourselves 
taught !  those  for  whom  we  have  prayed  much  and  ear- 
nestly, whom  we  have  met  by  the  fireside,  in  whose  be- 
half we  have  felt  the  anxiety  too  deep  for  words !  Their 
welfare  is  like  our  own.  It  is  a  part  of  it.  The  blow 
that  smites  them  strikes  through  them  to  us.  But  to 
hear,  to  be  assured  that  they  walk  in  truth,  is  to  hear  the 
best  news — that  which  our  fervent  affection  most  desires, 
that  which  crowns  our  fondest  anticipations. 

How  strange,  how  mysterious  is  that  mutual  bond  of 
sympathy  and  affection  which  binds  us  all  one  to  an- 
other! It  counteracts  selfishness.  It  keeps  us  from 
scattering  each  like  a  hermit  to  his  solitary  cell.  We 
smile  at  other's  joy,  we  weep  at  others  woe.  See  the 
parent's  heart,  stretching  the  tendrils  of  affection  far  over 
sea  and  land  to  clasp  the  absent  child  in  its  embrace. 
See  the  mutual  attachment  of  teacher  and  pupil,  of  pas- 
tor and  people,  of  the  missionary^ind  his  converts  !  And 
what  is  it  that  this  affection  desires  the  most,  when  it  is 
pure  and  intelligent  ?  When  life  is  at  stake,  when  the 
enfeebled  frame  is  sinking  under  disease,  how  poor  is 
dress,  or  show,  or  beauty,  or  honor!  And  when  the 
purity  of  the  soul,  its  spiritual  life,  is  exposed  to  hazard, 
how  vain  is  the  pomp  of  its  ruin,  its  harvests  of  grain,  its 


270  LIFE  LESSONS. 

gleanings  of  gold !  We  shudder  at  that  monstrous  dis- 
tortion of  feeling  which  would  have  a  child  rich  though 
mean,  great  in  place  or  rank,  if  dwarfed  in  principle. 
We  have  no  words  for  the  folly  of  the  parent  that  makes 
a  doll  of  a  child,  bedizzening  it  with  silks,  and  ribbons, 
and  jewels,  only  to  nurse  its  pride  and  make  it  the  sport 
of  its  own  precocious  passions  of  envy  and  vanity.  It  is 
like  burning  a  precious  diamond  for  the  sake  of  its  tran- 
sient blaze.  It  is  reducing  that  which  might  be  planted 
as  a  cedar  in  the  courts  of  the  Lord's  house,  into  a 
charred  firebrand,  and  doing  it  under  the  perverted 
name  of  affection. 

But  take  away  the  scales  from  the  blinded  eye.  Recog- 
nize in  that  object  of  love  a  young  immortal.  See  in  it 
here  on  earth  one  exposed  to  temptations  that  may  rend 
it  like  demons,  and  fling  it  dehumanized  into  the  gutter 
or  the  dark  pools  of  vice  ;  one  that  is  not  safe  for  a  mo- 
ment without  the  safeguards  of  virtue  ;  one  that  only  in 
the  strength  of  truth,  purity  and  piety  is  fit  to  fight-  the 
battle  of  life  and  come  off  conqueror,  and  then,  if  you 
love  it,  how  every  thing  else  shrinks  into  insignificance 
by  the  side  of  that  life  of  duty  and  religion  in  which  the 
soul  grows  ripe  for  the  benedictions  of  men  on  earth  and 
the  blessedness  of  God  in  heaven !  You  want  to  see  it 
walking  in  wisdom's  ways.  You  ask,  with  tears  per- 
haps, that  God  would  keep  it  from  the  evil,  from  vice, 
from  falsehood,  from  being  untrue  to  itself  or  to  him. 
And  you  are  not  contented,  your  anxiety  does  not  find 
relief,  till  you  beseech  for  it  the  new  heart  that  loves 
God,  the  new  life  that  springs  from  his  truth. 

And  you  are  right  here.  Better  that  your  child  should 
be  a  beggar  in  the  streets  than  that  it  should  grow  up  to 
falsehood  and  false  ways.  Better  that  it  should  be  hated 


WALKING  IN  THE  TRUTH. 


271 


of  men  than  unloved  of  God.  But  it  cannot  be  loved  of 
Him,  unless  it  is  true,  unless  it  walks  in  truth,  unless  it 
is  strong  in  truth,  unless  the  truth  has  made  it  penitent, 
humble,  contrite,  faithful,  consecrated  to  God.  There 
are  times  even  in  this  world  when  the  cable  of  good  hab- 
its under  the  stress  of  temptation's  storm  would  yield,  if 
the  iron  thread  of  Christian  principle  were  not  inter- 
twined with  it,  and  we  know,  that  in  the  final  struggle, 
he  is  weak,  no  matter  of  how  strong  resolve,  or  tireless 
energy,  who  is  not  strong  in  the  Lord. 

How  then  can  yours  be  the  joy  which  the  Apostle 
felt  ?  The  joy,  greater  than  which  he  declared  he  could 
not  feel?  How,  as  you  gaze  over  your  household,  or 
your  circle  of  friends,  or  on  the  forms  of  those  you  know 
and  love,  can  you  find  for  yourself  a  happiness  even  on 
earth  like  that  of  the  angels  in  heaven  over  the  repent- 
ing sinner  ?  Surely,  it  is  only  by  doing  what  you  can  to 
lead  them  to  the  fountains  of  eternal  life,  to  the  fear  of 
God,  to  the  feet  of  Jesus.  It  is  only  by  striving  so  to 
draw  and  guide  them  that  they  shall  be  led  to  him  who 
is  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life — shall  indeed,  in  a 
single  word,  walk  in  truth. 

But  to  this  end  you  must  walk  in  truth  yourself.  If 
you  point  to  heaven,  you  must  lead  the  way.  Nay,  if 
you  hesitate,  I  can  conceive  the  very  piety  of  your  child 
a  stinging  reproof,  an  occasion  of  reproach,  an  element 
to  embitter  your  anguish.  To  rejoice  in  his  conversion, 
you  need  to  be  converted  yourself.  Oh !  that  every  pa- 
rent could  say,  "  I  have  no  greater  joy  than  to  hear  that 
my  children  walk  in  truth,  and  this  joy  is  mine." 


XXXI. 

OHARACTBE. 

"  The  righteous  is  an  everlasting  foundation." — PROV.  x.  25. 

HAVE  you  ever  passed  along  the  shores  of  the  sea 
where  the  chafing  waves  had  for  centuries  been 
encroaching  on  the  land,  washing  the  sand  away,  but 
leaving  here  and  there  a  rocky  ledge  lifting  its  crest 
in  proud  defiance  ?  What  seemed  solid  earth  vanishes 
away,  undermined  and  disintegrated  piecemeal,  while 
what  had  hitherto  been  buried  out  of  sight  and  had 
passed  unnoticed,  comes  out  to  view,  and  is  prepared  to 
challenge  all  the  mad  force  of  the  ocean  lashed  into 
rage. 

On  these  shores  of  time,  where  the  waves  of  centuries 
undermine  and  sweep  away  the  greatest  works  of  art, 
may  we  not  feel  that  we  have  a  parable  before  us  ?  The 
sands  around  us  are  drifting  away  ;  the  structures  on 
which  we  expend  our  art  are  crumbling  ;  empires  are 
disintegrated  :  fortunes  are  whelmed  in  the  abyss  ;  the 
iron  frame  yields  at  last.  Marks  of  decay  are  traced  on 
all  that  we  behold  ;  and  yet  time  and  violence,  wind  and 
wave,  leave  to  every  man  that  which  we  denominate 
his  character.  With  each  passing  year  it  comes  out 
more  clear  and  distinct  and  unchanging,  until  at  last 
when  wealth,  and  honors,  and  vigor  have  yielded  like 

(272) 


CHARACTER. 


273 


sands  to  the  all-devouring  sea,  it  stands  alone,  like  the 
monumental  pillar  of  probation,  lifting  its  head  above 
the  tide  and  wave. 

The  results  of  life  are  various,  but  the  most  permanent 
of  them  all  is  character.  Sometimes  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  a  man  has  left  him  after  the  discipline  of  probation. 
Sometimes  misfortune  sweeps  away  all  his  gains,  and 
calamity  leaves  him  friendless,  and  he  stands  alone  with 
only  his  character,  like  a  pillar  solitary  amid  the  ruins 
of  a  great  city,  surviving  the  wreck  of  all  things  be- 
side. 

They  may  disappear,  but  character  abides.  Once, 
indeed,  it  was  pliable,  almost  like  wax  to  the  seal ;  a 
breath  could  cover  it,  like  a  window-pane  in  winter,  with 
pictured  frost-work,  or  tarnish  it,  like  the  polished  steel, 
and  disfigure  it  by  unsightly  rust.  A  mere  word  will 
sometimes  sink  into  it,  falling  as  lightly,  perhaps,  as  a 
raindrop  on  the  primeval  sands  that  ages  have  changed 
to  solid  strata,  and  leave  an  impression  that  future  ages 
will  never  erase.  A  fleeting  opinion,  carelessly  uttered, 
may  mar  and  disfigure  it  forever.  A  passing  incident,  a 
look  of  reproof,  a  kindly  tone,  a  memory  of  goodness,  an 
example  of  piety,  may  impress  some  feature  that  will  out- 
live the  crumbling  granite.  The  very  dust  and  straws 
of  time  may  be  incorporated  into  it ;  the  collisions  of 
youthful  passions  and  interests  may  impress  upon  it  last- 
ing distortion.  Sometimes  you  may  almost  pour  it  liquid 
into  the  mould  of  a  stronger  will.  But  when  it  has  taken 
shape,  when  time  has  hardened  it  in  the  mould,  or  fossil- 
ized the  impression,  it  defies  all  the  rasps  and  files  of 
discipline,  and  blunts  the  hardened  chisel,  and  sets  at 
naught  the  force  of  fire  and  hammer. 

What  is  there  that  falls  more  gently  and  lightly  than 
12* 


274 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


the  snow-flake  ?  A  breath  will  melt  it,  and  you  cannot 
feel  its  feathery  stroke  as  it  drops  lingeringly  from  the 
clouds  ;  it  sinks  noiselessly  and  unnoticed,  and  is  lost  to 
view  in  the  fleecy  mass  with  which  it  mingles.  And  yet 
with  time  and  pressure  it  hardens,  and  helps  to  form  the 
giant  iceberg  which,  launched  from  the  frozen  coasts  of 
the  North,  floats  downward  toward  the  pole,  towering 
above  the  tallest  mast  and  crushing  the  oak-ribbed  ves- 
sels that  are  dashed  against  it  like  egg-shells. 

Is  it  not  so  with  character  ?  How  evanescent  is  the 
passing  emotion,  the  fleeting  thought !  No  human  eye 
notes  it,  no  human  ear  hears  its  echo.  You  cannot  grasp 
it,  or  define  it,  or  weigh  it  in  the  scales.  It  is  born  of 
an  incident  or  a  breath,  and  it  vanishes  like  a  vapor. 
The  microscope  cannot  detect  it,  and  history  can  rarely 
record  it.  It  hangs  out  no  flag,  it  blows  no  trumpet. 
It  seems  to  flit  by  like  a  drifting  shadow.  Its  step  is  as 
noiseless  as  Time's  own  ;  and  yet,  as  it  sinks  into  its  place 
in  the  soul,  it  is  incorporated  with  other  thoughts  or 
emotions  more  or  less  like  itself,  and  the  result  is  some- 
times that  structure  of  character  that  will  resist  all  out- 
ward impression  of  rain  or  sunshine,  and  will  carry  the 
breath  of  polar  winters  with  it  into  regions  that  were 
strangers  to  its  birth.  The  strokes  that  are  aimed  at  it 
only  rebound  against  him  that  strikes.  The  masses  that 
are  dashed  at  it  are  only  crushed  in  the  collision.  It  is 
the  frost-bound,  impassive  iceberg  of  the  soul. 

Thus,  while  fashioned,  perhaps,  like  wax,  it  changes, 
as  it  were,  to  adamant.  Long  before  it  has  seen  three- 
score years  and  ten  it  becomes  fixed,  and  rigid,  and 
changeless.  You  cannot  mould  it  by  persuasion  or  im- 
press it  by  terror.  The  appeals  of  reason  are  lost  upon 
it ;  the  hopes  of  blessedness  cannot  soften  it ;  the  unveiled 


CHARACTER. 


275 


realities  of  retribution  leave  it  impassive.  All  the  powers 
of  the  life  to  come  fail  often  to  change  a  single  feature, 
and  if  there  is  yielding  at  last,  it  is  through  the  appre- 
hension of  final  judgment  or  the  power  of  sovereign 
grace. 

A  man's  character  is  the  aggregate  of  all  the  dispo- 
sitions, tastes,  purposes,  and  habits  of  his  soul ;  whatever 
helps  to  constitute  his  moral  identity.  This,  slowly  made 
up,  it  may  be,  changing  imperceptibly,  perhaps,  through 
years,  is  finally  the  least  yielding  of  all  things.  At  first 
it  may  be  almost  as  shifting  as  the  folds  of  the  morning's 
mist.  You  cannot  tell,  amid  the  vicissitudes  of  childish 
years,  what  form  it  will  finally  assume  ;  and  yet  at  last 
it  looms  up  before  you,  outlined  as  clear  and  definite  as  that 
silver-edged  border  of  the  thunder-head,  pencilled  on 
the  distant  sky,  which  you  can  carry  with  you  in  memory 
through  years  to  come.  You  cannot  tell,  perhaps,  how  it 
was  formed,  what  silent,  invisible  influences  moulded  it, 
or  from  what  source  its  elements  were  derived.  Just  as 
the  morning's  sun  will  drink  up  by  its  millions  of  beams 
millions  of  dew-drops,  gathering  them  from  lake  and  clod, 
from  forest  leaf  and  mossy  bed,  from  steaming  rotten- 
ness and  fragrant  flower,  so  from  countless  sources  are 
drawn  the  elements  of  our  moral  life,  from  the  examples 
we  witness,  the  opinions  we  hear,  the  scenes  through 
which  we  pass,  the  principles  set  before  us  or  adopted 
by  ourselves,  the  plans  we  form,  the  books  we  read,  the 
pleasures  we  seek,  the  very  objects  of  nature,  of  art,  of 
providence  or  grace,  that  pass  before  our  eyes. 

But  when  these  have  yielded  what  they  have  to  bestow, 
the  liquid  gift  crystallizes,  like  the  jewels  and  diamonds 
of  what  we  might  almost  call  the  bleeding  granite  ;  dia- 
monds which  become  so  hardened  and  unyielding,  that 


276  LIFE 

the  blow  that  would  make  any  impression  would  suffice 
to  crush  them  to  atoms.  The  character  becomes  less  and 
less  pliable,  and  ere  the  ordinary  period  of  life  is  past, 
we  feel  that  the  age  of  a  Methusaleh  filled  with  adverse 
and  counteracting  influences,  would  be  powerless  to 
change  it.  If  graceless  then,  it  is  graceless  forever.  If 
not  yet  moulded,  it  is  thenceforth  forever  rough  and  rude, 
rugged  and  harsh,  stern  and  forbidding.  Mountains  may 
be  levelled,  ocean  cliffs  may  be  worn  away  by  the  tides, 
the  pyramids  may  crumble,  but  the  character  is  still  the 
same.  The  tides  of  passion  only  plow  that  channel 
deeper  which  is  already  worn,  and  habit  only  entrenches 
itself  more  strongly  between  the  cliff-bound  barriers  that 
it  has  formed  itself. 

If  any  importance  then  attaches  to  character,  the  in- 
fluences by  which  it  may  be  rightly  shaped  should  be 
carefully  studied,  and  the  period  during  which  it  may  be 
moulded  should  be  accounted  the  golden  moment. 

But  character  is  important — unspeakably  important. 
It  is  character  which  gives  all  its  worth  and  significance 
to  human  existence  ;  without  it,  man  is  no  better  than  the 
brute — no  better  than  a  graven  image.  He  sinks  to  a 
level  with  the  beast  he  drives,  or  the  acres  he  ploughs. 
The  end  of  existence  and  of  probation  is  to  form  charac- 
ter— character  that  will  glorify  God.  Character  is  the 
one  indisputable  and  abiding  result  of  our  earthly  trial. 
Every  thing  else  is  subsidiary  to  this.  For  it,  the  immense 
mechanism  of  time  is  set  in  motion,  the  world  is  framed, 
social  order  is  established,  laws  are  ordained  and  testa 
applied.  Without  it  the  globe  with  its  furniture  would  be 
like  a  plowed  field  unsown — a  house  built,  but  never 
occupied.  What  is  the  mere  culture  of  acres,  the  build- 
ing of  cities,  the  minting  and  accumulation  of  coin,  except 


CHARACTER 


277 


as  these  bear  on  character  ?  They  have  no  more  in- 
trinsic value  or  importance  than  a  bee's  construction  of 
his  cells,  or  a  beaver's  construction  of  his  dam.  Sum  up 
all  the  other  deeds  and  achievements  of  a  human  life,  and 
if  you  omit  character,  what  remains  but  stubble  ?  There 
is  not  a  grain  of  wheat  left.  You  have  taken  away  the 
digits  and  added  up  only  ciphers. 

What  is  that  one  work  which  is  going  forward  cease- 
lessly throughout  our  whole  career  ;  which  activity  may 
promote,  but  which  indolence  cannot  arrest ;  which  begins 
with  cradled  infancy,  and  is  closed  only  by  the  summons 
of  the  grave?  Is  it  not  the  work  which  builds  up 
character  ?  And  is  not  this  our  life  work  ?  Are  we  not- 
all  artists  ?  Is  there  not  a  striking  parallel  between  the 
process  of  the  sculptor,  and  that  which  is  going  forward 
in  our  own  souls  ?  The  first  blows  knock  off  the  largest 
fragments  of  the  marble,  and  determine  the  general 
contour  of  the  statue.  But  not  less  important  in  some 
respects  are  the  latest  touches  of  the  chisel,  imperceptible 
in  their  effects  to  the  careless  observer,  but  yet  giving 
finish  to  the  work.  So,  to  the  very  last,  we  are  perfect- 
ing the  work  begun  perhaps  in  childhood,  and  of  all  our 
achievements,  this  is  to  us  the  most  important,  as  it  is 
the  most  enduring.  We  may  undertake  enterprises  that 
are  futile  as  it  respects  dividends,  but  the  character  gains 
or  loses  by  them.  We  may  foolishly  defeat  our  own  suc- 
cess, or  undo  what  we  have  done,  but  the  double  expe- 
rience is  registered  on  the  character.  We  can  undertake 
nothing,  which  does  not  leave  its  most  important  resi- 
duum in  our  own  hearts.  Our  character  is  for  us  the  sum- 
mary of  the  results  of  probation. 

Character  is  the  most  valuable  possession  that  a  man 
can  have  on  earth.  It  has  an  unspeakable  worth  even  in 


278  LIFE  LESSONS. 

the  markets  of  the  world,  and  in  the  daily  intercourse  of 
men.  The  loss  of  character  is  sometimes  the  loss  of 
every  thing.  How  poor  and  contemptible  is  he  that  has 
forfeited  it!  How  he  becomes  the  foot-ball  of  the 
world's  scorn !  How  he  finds  his  symbol  in  the  withered 
leaf,  torn  from  its  living  stem,  tossed  by  the  whirlwind, 
and  left  to  sink  despised  and  neglected  to  oblivion ! 

Character  has  its  value  when  tried  by  a  business 
standard.  An  established  reputation  is  itself  a  capital. 
It  inspires  confidence.  It  commands  credit.  It  was  by 
the  force  of  character  that  Washington  in  the  dark  days 
of  war  held  together  the  armies  of  his  country.  It  was 
by  the  force  of  character  that  the  elder  Pitt  was  able  to 
evoke  at  a  critical  moment  the  energies  of  the  nation, 
and  make  England's  name  terrible  around  the  globe,  on 
the  heights  of  Abraham  and  in  the  jungles  of  India.  It 
was  the  character  of  the  missionary  Schwartz  that  secured 
him  confidence,  and  made  him  the  peaceful  mediator  be- 
tween hostile  armies.  There  are  no  victories  or  triumphs 
inscribed  on  the  bloody  record  of  war,  that  in  moral 
grandeur  can  surpass  or  equal  the  bloodless  achievements 
of  character.  It  has  proved  itself  mightier  than  num- 
bers, stronger  than  steel,  richer  than  gold.  The  eloquence 
of  Demosthenes  is  feeble  by  the  side  of  the  eloquence  of 
character.  Sometimes  a  whole  nation  is  lifted  out  of  des- 
pondency by  the  voice  of  one  man  in  whom  it  has  learned 
to  confide.  The  ranks  of  a  shattered  army  arc  marshalled 
anew  into  invincible  battalions  when  the  man  whom  they 
feel  they  can  trust  is  put  at  their  head.  A  single  well- 
known  signature  will  evoke  millions  of  money  in  behalf 
of  the  enterprise  it  endorses.  Such  are  the  triumphs  of 
character. 

It  is  the  capital  often  of  youthful  enterprise  ;  it  is  the 


CHARACTER. 


279 


pledge  of  business  success ;  it  secures  friends  ;  it  con- 
ciliates sympathy  ;  it  commands  respect.  In  the  hour  of 
need,  in  the  trying  emergency,  it  surrounds  one  with  those 
who  are  disposed  to  lend  a  helping  hand.  He  is  not 
ostracised  simply  because  he  has  been  unfortunate  ;  he  is 
not  shunned  as  a  pest ;  he  is  not  despised  as  a  villain  ; 
calumny  may  assault,  but  £an  only  temporarily  harm  him, 
and  when  he  rises  again,  as  he  is  sure  to  do  in  the  end? 
those  that  hissed  once  will  be  ready  to  applaud.  He  can 
look  upon  his  honest  earnings  without  a  blush.  They  do 
not  rust  and  canker,  and  eat  his  flesh  as  it  were  fire. 
There  is  not  a  mean  or  dishonest  coin  among  them  ;  but 
even  if  he  were  to  lose  them  all,  they  are  but  trash  to 
what  still  remains.  His  character  will  abide  with  him ; 
it  will  be  the  foundation  of  new  enterprise,  the  warrant 
of  final  though  remote  success. 

Character,  again,  is  essential  to  happiness.  There  are 
some  characters  of  which  we  cannot  form  the  conception, 
without  associating  them  with  gloomy  passions  and 
troubled  thoughts.  They  are  built  up  of  the  elements  of 
selfishness,  greed,  and  crime.  We  look  upon  them  as  on 
some  frowning,  massive,  windowless  castle,  with  its  damp, 
chill  chambers  and  gloomy  dungeons,  where  spiders 
weave  their  webs  and  lizards  crawl.  There  is  no  cheer- 
ful sunlight  in  them,  no  ringing  tones  of  sportive  inno- 
cence, only  the  clank  of  chains  and  the  echo  of  solitary 
footsteps.  No  place  is  there  for  happiness,  no  room  for 
innocent  delight  or  sweet  content,  and  sometimes  you 
may  read  on  the  clouded  brow,  as  if  sculptured  over  the 
grim  portal  of  a  tower,  "  Only  the  tyrant  and  his  victims 
dwell  within." 

There  are  elements  of  character  that  are  like  a  disease 
in  the  bones,  eating  up  the  marrow  of  life.  The  impure. 


28o  LIFE  LESSONS. 

malicious,  envious  thought  is  a  kind  of  demon  within  the 
soul.  It  goes  about  with  us,  haunts  us,  dwells  in  us,  is 
part  of  our  being.  It  denies  and  pollutes  by  its  very 
presence.  It  frowns  fiend-like  upon  us,  from  within,  re- 
fusing to  be  dislodged.  We  are  possessed  as  it  were  of 
the  Evil  Spirit.  In  such  society  happiness  cannot  dwell. 

And  yet  there  are  characters  with  which  we  associate 
naturally  whatever  is  peaceful,  and  cheerful,  and  happy. 
Pure,  lofty,  generous,  above  the  strife  of  low  passions, 
full  of  meekness  and  gentleness ;  we  approach  them  as 
we  would  the  shadow  of  Eden  bowers.  Their  presence 
repels  all  that  is  unbecoming,  morose,  selfish,  dark,  or 
cruel.  The  light  of  conscious  integrity  and  innocence 
streams  through  them,  and  they  are  fanned,  as  it  were, 
by  breezes  laden  with  heaven's  own  fragrance. 

It  is  character  and  not  place  that  decides  the  nature 
of  the  inward  life.  It  is  not  the  saloon  that  determines 
the  features  of  the  scene,  but  the  guests  that  fill  it.  The 
landscape  is  nothing  if  "only  man  is  vile."  Locality, 
scenery,  climate — these  are  of  no  avail.  The  thoughts 
and  emotions  which  help  to  compose  the  character,  and 
which  are  also  the  waves  and  foam  that  it  tosses  up,  show 
us  what  it  is ;  and  when  these  belong  to  a  restless  sea, 
ridged  with  the  rolling  tempest  and  the  blasts  of  passion, 
we  know  that  it  must  be  a  stranger  to  peace — -just  as  we 
feel  assured  when  these  sink  to  repose  amid  their  own 
rippling  music,  heaven  with  all  its  stars  will  be  mirrored 
on  its  quiet  bosom. 

But  character  is  important  for  the  influence  it  exerts. 
It  is  held  up  before  the  world  like  the  picture  before  the 
artist's  eye,  which  he  is  to  study.  It  exercises  a  constant 
though  silent  power  over  others  wherever  it  is  displayed, 
by  the  fireside,  in  the  social  scene,  in  the  historic  gallery, 


CHARACTER.  281 

in  the  walks  of  public  life.  It  commends  the  good,  or  it 
sanctions  the  evil.  It  points  to  heaven  and  leads  the 
way,  or  it  seduces  to  the  paths  of  the  destroyer.  Noise- 
lessly but  effectively  it  is  ever  at  work.  The  hands  may 
be  folded  to  repose,  the  tongue  may  be  silent,  but  the 
character  speaks.  It  preaches  to  the  present  and  to  the 
absent.  It  admonishes,  it  inspires,  it  cheers,  it  guides ;  or, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  misleads  and  perverts.  Who  would 
not  say,  Let  it  be  formed  on  the  true  model?  Who 
would  not  insist,  even  in  the  obscurest  sphere,  on  its 
being  shaped  so  as  to  bless,  and  not  to  curse  ? 

But  character  is  also  unspeakably  important,  as  that 
which  alone  we  can  carry  with  us  out  of  the  world. 
Every  thing  else,  fame  and  fortune,  rank  and  station,  must 
be  left  behind.  But  our  character  will  be  our  own.  If  it 
is  what  it  should  be ;  if  it  has  been  built  up  of  holy  aims, 
and  sacred  emotions,  and  the  experience  of  charity  and 
faith ;  if  it  has  been  so  shaped  and  featured  that  we  may 
trace  upon  it  the  image  of  Jesus  ;  if  it  is  beautiful  with 
the  image  of  penitence,  and  cheerful  obedience,  and  sweet 
submission ;  then  it  is  our  unspeakable  treasure  —  our 
family  likeness  to  the  redeemed,  the  token  of  our  relation- 
ship to  the  holy  spirit  before  the  throne. 

How  solemnly,  then,  does  it  demand  your  care !  How 
does  its  importance  throw  every  earthly  or  temporal 
interest  into  the  shade !  Without  it,  kings  are  poor,  and 
with  it  beggars  are  rich.  It  constitutes,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  our  title  to  the  rank  of  the  Nobility  of  Heaven. 


XXXII. 

SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE. 

*  Le<  every  one  of  us  please  his  neighbor  for  his  good  to  edification." 

ROM.  xv.  2. 

THROUGHOUT  the  universe,  there  seems  to  be 
every  where  an  antagonism  of  opposite  forces,  more 
or  less  harmonized,  the  proper  balance  of  which  is  essen- 
tial to,  and  secures  order.  In  the  solar  system,  there  is 
centrifugal  as  well  as  centripetal  force,  one  impelling  the 
planets  onward  in  their  orbits,  and  the  other  holding 
them  within  the  sphere  of  the  sun's  attraction,  so  that  the 
course  they  take  is  directly  around  the  sun.  The  one 
balances  the  other.  So  it  is  throughout  the  starry  sys- 
tem ;  and  thus  the  "  music"  or  harmony  of  the  spheres  is 
preserved. 

So  the  temperature  of  the  earth  through  the  varied 
seasons  is  the  resultant  of  heat  from  the  sun's  rays,  and 
the  cold  of  the  polar  or  of  the  interplanetary  regions. 
There  is  a  perpetual  conflict,  and  yet  a  perpetual  though 
constantly  varying  equilibrium.  The  air  we  breathe  is 
composed  of  well-balanced  elements,  either  of  which  in 
excess  would  soon  destroy  life.  Our  own  nature  is  con- 
stituted of  reason  and  passion,  of  conscience  and  will,  and 
either,  in  preponderating  excess,  would  unfit  us  for  our 
sphere  of  action  on  earth.  Society  itself  is  kept  in  equi- 
poise by  a  balance  of  what  have  been  termed  the  radical 

(282) 


SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE.  283 

and  conservative  elements,  although  these  words  are  often 
grossly  misapplied. 

But  it  is  when  we  consider  man  in  his  relations  to 
society,  that  we  see  this  antagonism  and  equilibrium  most 
strikingly  exemplified.  Civil  order  is  the  result  of  the 
free  action  of  the  individual,  gently  but  firmly  and  per- : 
sistently  modified  by  a  regard  to  the  common  good.  Let 
that  free  action  become  license,  let  it  fail  to  feel  the  cen- 
tral attraction  of  a  common  interest,  and  a  man  becomes 
like  a  lawless  planet  breaking  loose  from  the  system  and 
carrying  terror  and  ravage  in  its  path.  On  the  other 
hand,  let  that  free  action  be  absolutely  suppressed  by  cen- 
tral authority,  and  the  system  becomes  a  tyrannic  unity  ; 
much  as  if  the  sun  should  draw  all  the  planets  to  itself 
and  consume  them  in  its  blaze.  Then  is  realized  what 
the  despotic  Louis  XIV  of  France  aspired  to,  when  he 
B&d,  "  I  am  the  State." 

Every  thoughtful  student  of  history  knows  that  in  the 
order  of  providence,  where  one  of  these  tendencies  is  in 
excess,  the  other  will  be  provoked  into  action  and  be  dis- 
posed to  rise  and  meet  it.  When  individual  license  runs 
riot  in  crime  and  violence,  the  strong  hand  of  a  Nimrod, 
a  Charlemagne,  a  Napoleon,  will  be  called  in  to  hold  it 
in  check.  And  so  where  royal  prerogative,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Stuarts  of  England,  assumes  to  crush  the  lib- 
erties of  the  subject,  and  trample  on  individual  rights, 
there  will  be  an  uprising  and  a  practical  protest  against 
it,  as  there  was  in  the  great  Rebellion  under  Cromwell. 
Just  as  the  intense  heat  of  summer  brings  the  cooling 
clouds  and  the  lightning,  so  the  burning  rays  of  oppres- 
sion will  marshal  the  vapors  of  popular  dissatisfaction, 
till  they  sweep  in  terrible  and,  perhaps,  wasting  energy 
over  the  parched  plains. 


284  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Thus,  civil  order  is  the  balance  of  conflicting  elements, 
and  when  either  of  these  is  in  excess,  the  popular  ten- 
dency will,  perhaps  slowly,  settle  back  in  favor  of  the 
other  extreme.  The  conservative  of  one  period  is  the 
reformer  of  another,  and  if  the  vessel  of  State  careens  too 
much,  he  that  was  on  the  extreme  right  will  be  very  apt 
to  go  to  the  extreme  left,  while  he  who  occupies  the 
centre  will  be  more  apt  to  sit  still. 

In  a  perfect  state  of  society  there  would  be  no  careen- 
ing. Individual  freedom  or  will  and  the  attraction  of 
the  common  good  would  be  in  equipoise.  And  this  result 
is  the  high  aim  of  the  broadest  and  most  sagacious  states- 
manship. The  individual  is  to  be  so  trained  that  he  shall 
voluntarily  and  intelligently  keep  the  path  of  order,  mov- 
ing like  the  planet  in  its  prescribed  orbit.  He  is  to  be 
free  within  a  limited  sphere,  and  his  own  will  and  intelli- 
gence are  to  respect  these  limits — the  limits  set  by  a  proper 
regard  to  the  supreme  authority  and  the  highest  good. 

But  this  training  is  a  difficult  work.  It  cannot  be  ac- 
complished by  legislation  alone.  It  cannot  be  achieved 
by  popular  elections,  the  war-cries  or  the  success  of  party. 
Xerxes7  army,  with  all  the  giant  trunks  of  the  Black 
Forest  at  hand,  never  could  build  up  even  a  soldier 's  hut, 
unless  the  materials  were  first  reduced  to  shape.  They 
must  be  dealt  with  individually.  And  so  constitutions 
and  statutes,  and  the  most  sagacious  statesmanship,  and 
all  the  lore  and  jurisprudence  of  ages,  will  be  of  no  avail, 
unless,  in  the  dwelling,  the  neighborhood,  the  village, 
the  school,  the  sanctuary,  and  by  the  fireside,  men  are 
trained  to  self-rule,  self-restraint,  and  the  experience  of 
freedom  harmonizing  with  authority. 

The  fact  is  that  the  will  of  man  is  depraved.  Its  force 
is  in  excess.  Each  individual  would  be  a  law  to  himself. 


SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE.  285 

He  is  disposed  to  overlook  the  claims  of  the  common 
good,  under  the  pressure  of  interest,  passion,  and  self- 
indulgence.  Unless  this  tendency  is  corrected  or  modi- 
fied, he  will  be  a  disturbing  element  in  the  social  body. 
Put  him  any  where,  and  he  will  still  in  some  way  be  in 
antagonism  to  others.  The  great  necessity  is  to  provide 
means  by  which  he  shall  be  held  in  check.  You  cannot 
remove  or  obviate  this  necessity  by  any  ingenious  organ- 
ization. It  will  intrude,  along  with  human  nature  itself, 
every  where,  in  a  Fourier  Phalanx,  a  More's  Utopia,  a 
Bacon's  Atalantis,  the  happy  valley  of  Rasselas,  or  any 
earthly  paradise. 

To  train  men  for  society,  and  for  harmonious  social 
relations,  is  a  necessary  step,  if  they  are  to  be  trained  for 
heaven.  And  unquestionably  the  providence  of  God 
makes  use  of  all  varieties  of  social  discipline,  the  hopes 
and  fears  and  sympathies  "of  men,  the  penalties  of  social 
opinion  and  usage,  and  civil  government,  as  an  important 
though  subordinate  element  of  their  education.  He  that 
cannot  live  with  his  fellows  here  on  earth  without  tram- 
pling on  them,  or  disregarding  their  well  being,  is  by  the 
very  fact  disqualified  for  the  social  converse  and  sympa- 
thies of  the  spiritual  world. 

And  here  we  approach  the  great  and  important  truth, 
that  God  is  educating  us  through  our  social  as  well  as 
our  intellectual  and  moral  nature.  Man  was  not  made 
to  b3>  alone — to  live  withdrawn  from  human  companion- 
ship. The  life  of  the  solitary  misanthrope  or  hermit  is 
unnatural.  We  may  say  with  Cowper  : 

"  Man  in  society  is  like  a  flower 
Blown  in  its  native  bed.     'Tis  there  alone 
His  faculties — expanded  in  full  bloom — 
Shine  out ;  there  only  reach  their  proper  sphere." 


286  LIFE  LESSONS. 

In  the  constitution  of  human  nature,  there  are  fac- 
ulties and  susceptibilities  and  longings,  which,  like  the 
tendrils  of  the  vine,  are  ever  reaching  forth  toward 
the  props  of  human  sympathy.  We  cannot  stand  soli- 
tary. Isolated  from  society,  our  nature  could  not  attain 
development.  You  might  as  well  enclose  the  young  shoot 
in  a  cylinder  reaching  up  an  hundred  feet,  and  then  ex- 
pect it  to  grow.  You  would  only  dwarf  it.  It  wants 
light  and  air,  and  nature's  glad  companionship  of  dew  and 
sunshine,  or  it  will  pine  away  and  die.  The  seed  must 
be  planted  in  the  earth  or  it  will  never  germinate.  So 
our  nature  must  be  planted  in  the  soil  of  society,  or  it 
will  never  grow  and  expand,  and  bear  fruit.  It  will  be- 
come and  remain  a  dry  seed  wasting  its  life  away,  a  fos- 
sil, a  mummy,  or  be  at  least  a  colorless  cellar  plant,  a 
limb  with  dry  buds,  never  expanding,  or  giving  forth 
their  fragrance.  Even  Pope  has  said  : 

"  Heaven  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend, 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all. 
Want,  passions,  frailties,  closer  still  ally 
The  common  interest,  or  endear  the  tie. 
To  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere, 
Each  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here/7 

If  there  is  any  evidence  of  design  in  the  natur^and 
constitution  of  man,  it  is  to  the  effect  that  he  was  made 
for  social  service  and  enjoyment ;  his  great  duties  are 
not  solitary  or  selfish ;  his  highest  pleasures  are  those 
that  he  communicates  or  shares  with  others.  And  what 
a  grand  and  glorious  light  do  the  revelations  of  heaven 
throw  upon  this  theme !  The  mansions  above  are  the 


SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE.  287 

home  of  tlie  blessed ;  the  sanctified  and  saved  are  the 
great  household  of  faith  ;  the  great  assembly  of  the  just 
is  i\\Q family  of  God.  Heaven  is  the  communion  of  holy 
and  happy  spirits  ;  there  voice  blends  with  voice  in  com- 
mon praise  ;  there  soul  responds  to  soul  in  common  puri- 
fied affection  ;  there  is  no  solitary  blessedness  ;  there  is 
no  selfish  joy. 

For  such  a  destiny  as  this,  who  does  not  see  that  God 
is  training  us  now  ?  He  is  doing  it  in  every  variety  and 
form  of  social  intercourse.  He  is  bringing  before  us, 
and  holding  up  to  our  view  those  principles,  those  neces- 
sities, those  duties,  through  which  the  selfish,  isolating, 
wilful  elements  of  our  nature  are  subjected,  and  brought 
under  the  control  of  reason,  conscience  and  kindly  affec- 
tions. He  is  showing  us  how  we  must  live,  if  we  would 
live  in  harmony  and  peace  ;  by  what  laws  and  rules  we 
must  be  guided  here,  if  at  last  we  would  be  one  in  spirit 
with  the  ransomed  before  the  throne. 

And  this  earthly  discipline,  to  him  who  views  it  aright, 
is  truly  invaluable.  A  wise  man,  a  truly  wise  man,  will 
not  rebel  against  it,  although  he  may,  at  times,  be  tempted 
to  say,  "  Good  Lord,  deliver  us,"  or  even  to  cry  out,  "  Let 
this  cup  pass  from  me.77  He  knows  that  it  is  sometimes 
better  for  us  to  meet  opposition  and  endure  misapprehen- 
sion, than  be  lulled  to  lethargy  by  the  monotony  of  ap- 
plause. He  knows  that  our  roughnesses  are  chafed  away 
sometimes  by  the  roughnesses  of  others,  even  as  the  rough 
fragments  of  the  beach  are  rounded  to  polished  pebbles 
by  friction,  or  what  may  be  called  the  social  discipline 
of  the  rocks.  He  knows  that  human  civilization  and  so- 
cial culture  and  the  grand  stimulus  to  self-improvement 
would  be  impossible,  without  those  social  conditions 
which  involve  the  meeting  and  mutual  operation,  and 


288  LIFE  LESSONS. 

perhaps  collision,  of  social  qualities.  He  knows  that  un- 
less we  have  been  disciplined  to  terms  of  association,  we 
cannot  associate,  unless  by  contact  with  others  we  learn 
to  restrain  ourselves  and  know  our  own  place,  we  shall 
be  like  a  superfluous  cog  in  the  wheel,  or  a  discord  in  the 
general  harmony. 

But  the  highest  virtues  of  heaven  find  their  nursery  on 
earth  in  the  field  of  our  social  relations.  The  noblest  les- 
sons that  can  be  imprinted  upon  the  soul  may  be  learned 
under  the  divine  tuition  amid  scenes  of  social  intercourse. 
Here  we  learn  to  love,  pity,  forbear  and  forgive.  Here 
we  learn  to  welcome  self-denial  for  others,  to  anticipate 
their  wants,  to  guard  their  steps,  to  pray  for  their  wel- 
fare, to  esteem  their  gratitude.  We  are  taught  also  to 
recognize  our  responsibility  in  their  behalf.  Isolate  men 
from  one  another,  make  hermits  of  them,  and  how  could 
there  ever  be  any  chance  for  the  record  of  those  great 
loving  and  generous  deeds  that  shine  through  the  night 
of  ages  like  the  jewels  of  time's  diadem  ?  Where  had  been 
the  meekness  of  Moses,  the  love  of  David  and  Jonathan,  the 
national  devotion  of  Esther,  the  brotherhood  of  the  early 
disciples,  the  fidelity  of  the  martyrs  sealing  for  others 
their  faith  with  their  blood,  or  the  missionary  zeal  that 
with  loftiest  heroism,  has  gone  down  the  deep,  dark 
mine  of  heathenism  to  rescue  those  exposed  to  perish  ? 
Nay !  taking  a  lower  level — who  would  ever  have  read 
with  such  a  thrill  of  admiring  wonder  the  noble  deeds  of 
patriarchs  and  philanthropists,  the  self-devotion  of  a 
Regulus,  a  Wilkenreid,  a  Tell,  a  Gustavus  Adolphus,  a 
Wilberforce,  a  Howard,  or  a  Washington  ?  God's  wis- 
dom is  gloriously  illustrated  by  so  ordering  our  lot,  that 
the  highest  elements  of  our  spiritual  education  are 
brought  home  to  our  own  doors,  so  that  he  who  would 


SOCIAL  DISCIPLINE.  289 

learn  the  lessons  of  forbearance,  charity,  and  generous 
self-denial,  need  seek  them  not  afar,  where  academic  halls 
invite  the  favored  few  ;  not  in  senates,  where  giant  minds 
contest  the  palm  of  eloquence  ;  not  on  the  world's  battle- 
fields, where  genius  and  valor  alone  can  attain  distinc- 
tion ;  but  by  the  quiet  fireside,  where  filial  duty  and 
brotherly  and  sisterly  affection  may  check  lawless  pas- 
sion, and  impel  to  the  heroic  deeds  of  a  self-subdued  and 
subjugated  will ;  by  the  very  way- side  of  our  pilgrim- 
path,  where  we  may  take  a  brother's  hand  with  the  out- 
gushing  sympathies  of  fraternal  affection  ;  amid  the 
common  walks  of  every  day  life,  where  we  may  endure 
wrong  without  a  murmur  and  return  good  for  evil ;  in 
our  own  lowly  or  limited  neighborhood,  where  we  may 
find  objects  of  pity  and  relief,  and  win  the  rich  blessings 
of  those  that  were  ready  to  perish. 

We  are  in  our  school-room.  The  text-book  of  social 
duty  is  thrown  open  before  us,  and  the  finger  of  the 
Great  Teacher  is  pointing  out  the  lines.  Here  we  are  to 
learn  to  curb  self-will,  to  exercise  self-denial,  to  take  into 
view  the  wants  and  claims  of  friends,  neighbors  and  the 
whole  human  race.  The  work  of  ministering  angels  is 
before  us,  and  we  may  learn  it  if  we  will.  How,  if  we 
spurn  text-book  and  Teacher,  can  we  avoid  the  doom 
foreshadowed  in  the  sentence,  "  He  that  is  unfaithful  in 
that  which  is  least,  will  be  also  unfaithful  in  much  ?" 


XXXIII. 

INFLUENCE. 

"  He  being  dead,  yet  speaketh." — HEB.  xi.  4. 

NO  error  is  more  common  among  men  than  that  which 
is  committed  by  a  false  estimate  of  moral  forces. 
Whatever  is  material  and  palpable  arrests  attention,  but 
that  which  is  voiceless  and  unseen,  eludes  notice.  The 
lightning  is  more  demonstrative  than  the  sunbeam,  and 
the  tornado  than  the  falling  dew.  Yet,  it  would  be  a 
great  mistake  to  judge  them  by  the  degree  in  which  they 
are  calculated  to  arrest  attention.  And  so  also  the 
motives  and  agencies  that  shape  human  action  and  human 
life,  and  extend  to  the  moulding  of  the  destiny  of  nations, 
are  slighted  by  the  materialistic  philosopher  as  unworthy 
of  scrutiny.  He  recognises  the  volcano  ;  he  respects  the 
earthquake  ;  he  concedes  the  importance  of  mountain 
and  valley,  river  and  lake,  forest  and  prairie ;  but  the 
unseen  agencies  of  thought  and  emotion,  the  elements  of 
moral  truth,  fail  to  attract  his  gaze.  He  sifts  the  sands 
of  history,  but  the  subtlest  and  yet  most  powerful  ele- 
ments elude  his  search.  He  retains  the  quartz  pebbles, 
but  loses  the  golden  grains  of  truth.  His  philosophy  is 
the  sieve  of  the  Danaidae. 

Yet  all  around  us  extends  that  moral  world,  invisible 
to  the  outward  eye,  which  concerns  us  more  deeply  than 

(290) 


INFLUENCE. 


291 


soil  or  climate.  The  atmosphere  which  pervades  it  is 
influence,  and  it  is  not  of  less  importance  to  the  soul 
than  air  is  to  the  lungs.  It  may  be  laden  with  fragrance  ; 
or  charged  with  deadly  miasma  ;  it  may  bear  the  healing 
dews  upon  its  wing,  or  it  may  sweep  over  us  in  blasts 
deadly  as  the  Simoon  of  the  desert. 

To  the  student  of  history,  noting  generation  after 
generation  passing  off  the  stage,  it  is  singular  to  observe 
how  they  are  all  linked  together,  so  that  no  biography  of 
character  is,  or  can  be  perfectly  complete,  which  does 
not  recognise  in  it  the  shaping  elements  that  have  come 
down  from  distant  ages,  or  been  derived  from  distant 
lands.  Society  reaching  back  to  the  fall  in  Eden  has  a 
strange  unity,  and  may  be  compared  to  a  living  organism 
of  which  influence  is  the  life-blood.  Popular  opinion 
may  be  compared  to  the  heart,  which  receives  its  tribute, 
through  the  arteries  and  veins  of  the  social  system,  from 
the  very  extremities,  and  sends  it  forth  pulsating  to  find 
its  way  to  the  remotest  portions  and  the  least  conspic- 
uous members  of  the  whole.  There  is  constant  change, 
but  nothing  is  lost.  Every  drop  is  gathered  up  and 
helps  compose  the  aggregate. 

There  is  no  fact  more  obvious  to  one  who  observes 
what  passes  around  him,  than  the  power  of  influence.  It 
is  a  power  working  unseen,  but  producing  surprising 
results.  It  works  in  a  sphere  susceptible  oftentimes  of 
deep  and  lasting  impression  ;  it  fashions  opinion  ;  it 
moulds  character  ;  it  gives  shape  to  the  career  and  des- 
tiny of  men  and  nations.  On  influences,  seemingly  un- 
important, and  sometimes  exercised  without  design,  great 
events  in  the  world's  history  have  been  poised.  In  the 
moral  world  there  is  something  analogous  to  what  we  see 
in  the  physical,  when  the  change  in  direction  of  a  few 


292  LIFE  LESSONS. 

pounds  pressure  on  its  helm,  guides  a  vessel  to  the  desired 
haven,  or  sends  it  shattered  upon  the  rocks.  The  final 
character  and  doom  of  man  are  determined,  like  the  lines 
on  the  daguerreotype  plate,  by  influences  as  subtle  and 
impalpable  oftentimes  as  those  of  a  pencil  of  light.  A 
single  word,  unwisely  spoken,  has  had  a  history  as  fatal 
as  that  of  the  rash  shout  that  startled  the  toppling 
avalanche  from  its  poise  and  hurried  it  down  in  ruinous 
crash  to  entomb  a  village.  The  impulse  of  a  moment 
has  changed  the  complexion  of  a  life.  A  mother's  tears, 
not  improbably  robbed  the  ocean  of  a  victim,  and  saved 
to  us  a  Washington.  The  martial  inspiration  derived 
from  Homer's  pages,  sent  Alexander  forth  to  the  con- 
quest of  the  world.  Caesar's  ambition  was  fired  from 
reading  and  envying  the  life  of  the  Macedonian.  Napo- 
leon's plaything  while  a  boy  was  a  cannon.  Who  does 
not  contrast  great  results  with  feeble  causes,  when  read- 
ing Doddridge's  "Rise  and  Progress/7  he  is  reminded 
that  the  author  was  taught  by  his  mother  the  stories  of 
the  Bible,  before  he  could  read,  from  the  painting  of 
Sacred  Scenes  on  the  Dutch  tiles  of  the  chimney  ? 

Just  as  a  breath  will  obscure  the  polished  mirror, 
so  a  thought  will  obscure  the  lustre  of  character.  As  a 
floating  atom  entering  the  eye  of  the  body,  will  blind  it, 
so  a  floating  atom  of  thought  may  injure  or  destroy  the 
soul's  vision  of  heaven. 

/  But  not  less  striking  is  the  fact  that  this  influence  per- 
/  petuates  itself.  It  is  often  the  seed  of  a  most  magnifi- 
cent or  a  most  lamentable  harvest.  Even  if  counteracted, 
its  modifying  effect  is  not  lost.  Like  forces  uniting  at  an 
angle,  it  and  that  which  comes  into  collision  with  it,  are 
both  affected.  We  see  this  abundantly  illustrated  in  the 
history  of  philosophical  speculation  as  well  as  in  human 


INFLUENCE.  293 

biography.  The  tributary  is  lost  in  the  main  stream,  but 
it  communicates  its  volume  and  some  of  its  peculiarities. 
Two  commingled  influences  yet  live  in  their  compound 
result. 

There  is  an  important  sense,  in  which  it  may  be  said 
that  every  man  is  immortal,  even  on  earth.  That  which 
constitutes  the  essential  element  of  his  active  uselessness, 
or  his  active  mischief — his  influence — never  dies.  It  van- 
ishes from  view.  It  becomes  impalpable.  It  is  swallowed 
up  in  the  great  social  aggregate,  like  the  rivulet  in  the 
river,  or  absorbed  like  the  dew  in  the  mists  and  vapors  ; 
but  it  does  not,  it  cannot  perish.  It  survives  all  the  per- 
sonal fortunes  of  the  individual  from  whom  it  emanates 
on  earth  ;  it  outlasts  the  monument,  however  enduring, 
that  is  raised  over  his  dust.  When  the  eye  is  closed  to 
its  last  sleep,  and  the  hands  are  folded  to  their  last  rest, 
it  may  still  be  said  of  their  former  possessor,  "  he  being 
dead,  yet  speaketh." 

It  is  one  thing  to  write  a  man's  biography,  closing  it  at 
the  moment  when  the  group  of  mourners  separate  around 
his  grave ;  it  is  quite  another  to  write  its  continuation 
from  that  point,  for  the  last  may  be  infinitely  the  most 
important,  most  identified  with  the  destiny  of  the  race. 
Then  he  begins  to  speak  and  act  through  his  influence 
alone.  That  has  gone  forth  through  example,  opinions, 
words  and  looks,  thenceforth  disencumbered  of  all  mortal 
hindrance,  to  work  directly,  with  an  unearthly,  spiritual 
activity,  on  the  minds  and  hearts  of  survivors.  If  traces 
its  image  there.  It  shapes  the  plan,  decides  the  waver- 
ing purpose,  lures  to  the  forbidden  path,  or  utters  the 
word  of  remonstrance — the  timely  warning.  It  lives  no 
longer  in  a  single  breast,  but  in  the  hearts  of  all  that  it 
ever  reached,  and  when  they  drop  away  and  disappear, 


294 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


it  still  survives,  transmitted  to  others  from  generation  to 
generation,  transmigrating  incorruptible  from  life  to  life, 
and  in  ever-expanding  circles,  affecting  more  widely  all 
the  influences,  kindred  or  adverse,  with  which  it  comes 
in  contact,  and  all  the  lives  which  it  may  help  to  mould. 
This  may  seem  to  us,  amid  the  every-day  materialism 
of  our  earthly  course,  almost  like  romance,  the  extrava- 
gance of  imagination,  revelling  amid  bare  possibilities. 
And  yet  it  is  sober  fact ;  it  is  stern  reality.  The  influ- 
ence we  exert — no  matter  how  humble  our  sphere — is  no 
mere  fancy,  no  mythic  creation  ;  and  it  is  almost  the  only 
important  thing  that  we  can  leave  behind  us  on  earth. 
Thenceforth  and  forever,  it  becomes  a  power  for  good  or 
evil,  working  through  the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  surviv- 
ors, and  working  with  a  continuousness  and  energy  that 
can  never  grow  weary,  that  will  never  sleep,  or  cease  to 
work.  That  influence  has  all  the  intense  and  unwearied 
activity  of  a  disembodied  spirit.  It  knows  nothing  of  our 
mortal  frailty,  cramped  and  hampered  by  material  obsta- 
cles, and  exhausted  by  fatigue.  It  never  grows  old.  It 
never  knows  wrinkles  or  grey  hairs.  Three-score  years 
and  ten  cannot  measure  even  the  childhood  of  its  being. 
The  age  of  a  Methusaleh  is  ephemeral  by  the  side  of  it. 
We  may  not  be  able  to  trace  distinctly  its  sphere  of  ac- 
tivity, but  we  know  that  it  has  one.  It  has  a  life  that  is 
indestructible  and  eternal.  It  lives  in  the  lives  it  has 
touched  and  moulded,  in  the  opinions  that  bear  its  im- 
print, in  the  great  causes  of  selfishness  or  philanthropy, 
of  sin  or  godliness,  with  the  current  of  which  it  has  min- 
gled its  tributary  rills.  The  missionary  carries  it  with 
him  from  the  hearthstone  of  a  pious  home  to  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges,  or  the  Islands  of  the  Sea.  The  enterprising 
pioneer  transports  it  afar  to  the  bosom  of  the  wilderness. 


INFLUENCE. 


295 


Its  scattered  germs  spring  up  amidst  Greenland's  snows,  or 
under  tropic  suns.  It  goes  with  the  statesman  to  the  sen- 
ate, with  the  preacher  to  the  pulpit,  with  the  words  that 
types  multiply  to  ten  thousand  homes. 

There  have  lived  men,  intellectually  or  morally  eminent, 
whose  influence  we  are  able  in  some  feeble  and  imperfect 
measure  to  trace.  We  can  mark  it  along  the  track  of  the 
world's  history,  in  national  development,  social  reform, 
and  intellectual  revolution.  Of  all  the  great  and  good 
that  lived  in  the  infancy  of  time,  and  whose  names  and 
examples  have  been  preserved,  it  may  be  said  emphati- 
cally, that  "they  being  dead,  yet  speak."  Abel  still 
teaches  us,  as  generations  before  us.  The  voice  of  the  Patri- 
archs comes  down  to  our  day,  and  the  lessons  of  their  ex- 
perience are  ringing  in  our  ears.  Joseph,  and  Moses,  aud 
Joshua,  and  Samuel  are  holding  up  before  our  eyes  to- 
day the  testimony  which  God  called  them  to  bear  to  his 
providence  and  grace.  Solomon's  Proverbs  outlived  his 
temple,  and  can  never  perish.  Isaiah,  and  Jeremiah,  and 
Ezekiel,  and  Daniel  still  prophecy  for  us.  The  influence 
of  apostles,  evangelists,  teachers,  martyrs,  is  felt  more  and 
more  widely  as  generations  pass  away,  and  is  spreading 
still,  and  shall  spread  till  it  reaches  every  spot  which  the 
foot  of  man  hath  trod.  The  poor  widow  with  her  two 
mites  has  been  preaching  charity  for  eighteen  centuries, 
and  is  preaching  yet.  The  good  Samaritan,  by  his  spir- 
itual lineage,  is  still  binding  up  wounds,  and  caring  for 
the  wretched  by  a  thousand  hands  that  his  spirit  guides. 
The  grateful  penitent  on  whom  the  Saviour  bestowed  the 
eulogy,  "  She  hath  done  what  she  could,"  has  won  count- 
less treasures  for  Christ's  anointing ;  more  precious,  by 
far  than  the  alabaster  box  of  precious  ointment. 

We  can  trace  the  influence  of  the  old  Greek  philoso- 


296  LIFE  LESSONS. 

phers  in  the  shaping  of  systems  that  have  affected  the 
prospects  of  nations.  Plato  speaks  still  in  the  modifying 
influence  which  his  speculations  exerted  upon  the  early 
development  of  Christian  truth.  Aristotle,  when  more 
than  a  thousand  years  had  passed  over  his  grave,  was 
still  moulding  the  scholastic  thought  of  Europe,  and 
teaching  the  minds  that  from  the  chairs  of  the  univer- 
sities were  to  teach  the  world.  Zeno  and  Epicurus  seem 
to  rise  out  of  their  graves  to  call  distant  generations 
still  to  sit  at  their  feet.  So,  too,  the  great  and  eloquent 
Chrysostom  preached  to  admiring  thousands ;  but  he 
had  a  larger  audience  when  centuries  after  his  exile  and 
hardships,  thousands  whom  he  had  never  seen  caught 
up  his  words,  and  echoed  them  forth  on  a  broader  stage. 
Augustine  exerted,  while  he  mingled  with  human  affairs 
in  person,  a  powerful  influence ;  but  we  forget  his  episcopal 
dignity  when  we  think  of  Charlemagne  reading  his  writ- 
ings amid  the  splendor  of  his  court,  or  Huss  poring  over 
them  in  his  study,  or  Luther  exploring  them  in  his  cell. 

And  as  it  is  with  the  good,  so  it  is  with  bad  men.  The 
poisonous  streams  of  their  influence  roll  on  to  swell  the 
great  current  of  the  world's  thought,  and  mingle  death 
with  its  waves.  How  much  that  was  pure  and  holy  has 
thus  been  neutralized !  How  it  makes  us  shudder  to 
think  of  the  mischief  originated  by  the  blasphemer,  the 
swearer,  the  Sabbath-breaker,  the  libertine,  whose  exam- 
ples have  lured  others  to  the  brink  of  Hell,  or  have  con- 
stituted them  their  successors,  to  snatch  the  flag  of  wick- 
edness from  their  dying  grasp  and  wave  it  still !  Who 
is  not  appalled  when  he  attempts  to  trace  the  baneful 
influence  of  parental  faithlessness  or  vice,  cursing  a 
whole  household,  or  of  social  profligacy,  contaminating 
whole  groups  with  the  infection  or  moral  pollution  ? 


INFLUENCE.  297 

When  Tom  Paine's  bones,  transported  to  England  by 
Cobbett  as  a  speculation,  were  mouldering  in  the  custom- 
house, too  poor  to  pay  the  duty,  and  when  at  last  they 
were  thrown  overboard  into  the  sea,  his  influence,  the  in- 
fluence not  merely  of  his  writings,  but  of  his  character, 
was  poisoning  the  whole  neighborhood  of  his  former 
residence,  and  spreading  more  and  more  widely  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.  The  great  villains  of  other  days 
who  sought  glory  and  power  by  sacrificing  nations 
to  their  ambition — the  Alexanders,  Caesars,  and  Napo- 
leons of  all  ages — whom  some  men  for  their  mere  genius 
or  valor  would  almost  deify — have  not  yet  become 
cyphers  in  the  sphere  of  influence.  They  are  still  per- 
verting other  minds,  or  firing  them  by  a  false  ambition. 
Their  names  and  examples  are  drifted  on,  like  thistle 
down  in  the  wind,  to  distant  lands  and  ages,  to  sow  in 
ever  new  fields  the  seed  that  shall  multiply  and  perpetu- 
ate the  distant  curse. 

But,  perhaps,  among  all  the  illustrations  of  the  widen- 
ing and  ever-extending  sphere  of  influence,  none  is  more 
striking  than  that  which  is  afforded  by  the  history  of 
literature.  Here,  indeed,  we  sometimes  find  "  fact 
stranger  than  fiction."  It  seems  like  romance  to  trace 
from  mind  to  mind,  and  from  age  to  age,  the  impulse  of 
a  thought,  or  a  cluster  of  thoughts,  which  were  almost 
neglected  in  their  own  day.  I  wonder  that  among  all 
our  antiquarian  and  genealogical  students  there  have 
been  so  few  who  have  bethought  themselves  to  trace  the 
strange  lineage  of  books.  In  the  department  of  philo- 
sophy, indeed,  something  has  been  done,  and  along  the 
line  of  metaphysical  research  and  development  we  may 
trace  the  influence  of  mind  upon  mind,  theory  upon 
theory,  and  from  Plato  down  to  Sir  William  Hamilton 
13* 


298  LIFE  LESSONS. 

or  Mansel ;  through  nominalists  and  realists  ;  Roscelin, 
Abelard,  and  the  schoolmen  ;  Bacon,  Locke,  and  Leibnitz  ; 
Kant,  Berkeley,  and  Hume  ;  Reid,  Stewart,  Jacobi, 
Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  we  may  note  the  successive 
links  of  a  connected  chain  that  stretches  over  centuries. 

But  in  the  religious  world,  the  exploration  has  been 
far  more  imperfect.  And  yet  even  here  there  are  some 
striking  facts  that  thrust  themselves  almost  upon  our- 
notice.  There  is  many  a  book  like  Butler's  "  Analogy/7 
or  Pascal's  "  Thoughts/7  or  Baxter's  "  Call/7  or  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress/'  or  others  of  less  fame,  that  has  associ- 
ated with  its  history  strange  stories  of  its  influence.  A 
polluted  literature  carries  us  into  scenes  of  crime,  and  in 
revels  and  violence,  in  courts  and  prisons  we  trace  the 
progress  of  its  poisonous  influence. 

A  single  book  has  linked  different  generations  together 
It  has  spanned  ages  with  its  arch  of  thought ;  it  has 
bridged  the  centuries  so  that  others  have  come  down  to 
us,  or  we  have  gone  back  to  them  ;  and  we  have  thus 
been  permitted  to  commune  with  the  gifted  minds  of  the 
past,  and  receive  the  impulse  of  their  earnest  thoughts. 
Sometimes,  after  a  lapse  of  ages,  a  book  has  been  dug 
up,  as  it  were,  out  of  old  libraries — the  fossil  strata  of 
literature — and  has  been  made,  like  Paleario's  little  book, 
to  do  fresh  service  in  the  cause  of  truth  or  the  conflict 
with  error.  It  has  been  waked  from  the  sleep  of  cent- 
uries to  speak  in  fresh  tones,  even  if  in  quaint  speech, 
with  the  authority  of  a  living  prophet. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  or  more  since,  when  Raleigh 
was  exploring  the  New  World,  and  Bacon  was  yet  an 
aspirant  on  the  track  that  led  to  fame,  an  obscure  Puritan 
minister,  named  Edmund  Bunny,  fell  in  with  a  work  writ- 


INFLUENCE.  299 

ten  by  the  Jesuit  Parsons,  which  had  some  good  things 
in  it.  He  thought  them  too  good  to  be  lost ;  so  he  took 
the  book,  cut  the  popery  out  of  it,  recast  it  after  another 
pattern,  and  gave  it  to  the  printer.  It  went  abroad,  and, 
among  others,  two  men,  who  afterward  became  eminent 
nonconformist  ministers,  were  seriously  impressed  by  its 
perusal.  An  old  torn  copy  strayed  away  into  an  humble 
cottage  of  Shropshire,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  poor 
man  who  lent  it  to  Richard  Baxter's  father.  Richard 
was  then  a  boy  of  fifteen  years,  but  the  book  came  in 
his  way  and  he  read  it,  and  it  pleased  God  to  make  it 
the  means  of  awakening  his  soul,  and  leading  him  to  feel 
the  inexpressible  importance  of  eternal  things.  From 
that  hour  he  began  a  new  life,  and  in  his  writings, 
throughout  a  toilsome  career,  crowned  with  glorious  re- 
vivals, we  see  reproduced  the  pungency,  point,  and 
fervor  of  that  old  book  known  as  "  Bunny's  Resolution.7' 
"Who  that  has  ever  read  the  "  Saint's  Rest,"  or  traced  the 
ceaseless  activity  of  Baxter's  life,  will  venture  to  compute 
the  results  which  flowed  from  the  reading  of  that  old 
torn  book  which  the  cottager  lent  to  Baxter's  father. 

Baxter  died  in  1691  ;  but  among  the  "  live  books"  he 
left  behind  him  was  his  "  Call  to  the  Unconverted,"  of 
which  20,000  copies  are  said  to  have  been  sold  in  a 
single  year.  Such  was  the  harvest  that  was  to  furnish 
seed  for  new  harvests  on  fields  that  are  unexhausted  yet. 

About  twenty-five  summers  had  passed  over  Baxter's 
grave  when  some  of  his  books, — one  of  them  the  "  Call 
to  the  Unconverted,"  so  it  is  said, — fell  into  the  hands  of 
a  young  student  at  St.  Alban's.  That  student  was  Philip 
Doddridge,  and  the  reading  of  Baxter  led  to  his  con- 
version. He  became  the  faithful  and  successful  pastor 
of  the  church  in  Northampton  ;  educated  in  his  seminary 


3°° 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


several  young  men  for  the  ministry  ;  wrote  his  "  Family 
Expositor/'  which  has  gone  into  tens  of  thousands  of  fami- 
lies ;  composed  not  a  few  of  the  sweetest  hymns  that  for 
a  century  have  been  sung  in  Christian  sanctuaries,  and 
which  we  are  singing  still ;  besides  producing  his 
treatise  on  "  The  Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in  the 
SouP7 — a  book  which  in  German,  French,  and  other 
European,  as  well  as  in  heathen  languages,  has  preached 
to  millions  and  resulted  in  the  conversion  of  hundreds 
and  of  thousands. 

Thirty- three  years  after  Doddridge  died,  a  copy  of  this 
book  found  its  way  to  the  table  of  Mr.  Unwin,  a  corres- 
pondent of  Cowper.  A  young  English  statesman,  just 
setting  out  on  his  journey  to  Southern  France,  and  in 
want  of  a  book,  took  it  up,  and  asked  its  character. 
"  One  of  the  best  books  ever  written/7  replied  his  com- 
panion, Milner  ;  "  let  us  take  it  with  us,  and  read  it  on 
our  journey.77  The  young  man  readily  consented,  and 
the  reading  of  that  book  made  upon  his  mind  impressions 
which  were  never  effaced.  He  began  to  examine  the  ' 
.Bible  for  himself,  and  the  result  was  that  he  was  led  to 
consecrate  his  life  to  the  service  of  Christ.  That  young 
man  was  William  Wilberforce,  whose  name  is  forever 
associated  with  the  legislative  reforms  and  philanthropy 
of  the  English  nation,  the  abolition  of  the  slave  trade  and 
the  introduction  of  Christianity  into  India ;  and  whose 
devoted  piety  led  him  to  write  his  "  Practical  View  of 
Christianity/7  a  work  which  has  travelled  around  the 
globe,  and  been  read  alike  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges 
and  the  Mississippi  ;  of  which  more  than  one  hundred 
editions  have  been  published,  and  which  the  great  states- 
man Edmund  Burke  spent  the  two  last  days  of  his  life  in 
reading,  declaring  that  he  had  derived  much  comfort 


INFLUENCE.  301 

from  it,  and  if  he  lived,  would  thank  its  author  for  hav- 
ing sent  such  a  book  into  the  world. 

The  volume  had  been  published  but  a  few  months  when 
it  found  its  way  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  young  curate,  to  whom  it  had  been  sent  by  a 
college  friend — a  thoughtless  candidate  for  the  ministry — 
with  the  request  that  he  would  read  it,  and  tell  him  what 
he  must  say  about  it.  He  began  to  read,  and  could  not 
lay  down  the  book  till  he  had  read  it  through.  A  decided 
change  was  wrought  in  his  views  of  divine  truth,  and  he 
declared  :  "  I  feel  it  a  debt  of  gratitude  which  I  owe  to 
God  and  man,  to  say,  that  to  the  unsought  and  unex- 
pected introduction  of  Mr.  Wilberforce's  book,  I  owe, 
through  God's  mercy,  the  first  sacred  impression  which  I 
ever  received  as  to  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  Gospel 
System." 

That  young -curate  was  Legh  Richmond,  and  his  works 
will  live,  and  he  being  dead,  will  continue  to  speak,  as 
long  as  there  is  a  heart  to  be  moved  by  the  simple  story 
of  "  The  Poor  African/7  or  "  The  Dairyman's  Daughter." 

But  more  than  this  ;  Wilberforce's  book  crossed  the 
Tweed,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  young  Scotch  clergy- 
man, absorbed  in  scientific  pursuits,  and  oblivious  of  the 
sacred  responsibilities  of  his  calling  ;  a  man  nevertheless 
of  princely  gifts,  of  whom  that  shrewd  judge  Andrew 
Fuller  said,  that  "  if  he  would  throw  aside  his  notes  and 
preach  extempore,  he  might  be  king  of  Scotland."  He 
was  learned,  eloquent,  ambitious,  and  worldly,  but  the 
Providence  that  designed  him  for  higher  service  brought 
him  low  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  after  months  of  weary 
confinement  to  his  room,  the  "  Practical  View"  fell  into  his 
hands.  This  event  proved  the  turning-point  in  his  career  ; 
and  when  Dr.  Chalmers  told  the  story  of  his  conversion 


302 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


to  God,  he  declared  that  Mr.  Wilberforce's  book  brought 
on  "  a  great  revolution  in  all  his  opinions  about  Chris- 
tianity," and  that  he  "  experienced  a  very  great  transi- 
tion of  sentiment  in  consequence  of  reading  his  work." 
The  life  of  Dr.  Chalmers  was  shaped  anew  by  that  book. 
It  made  another  man  of  him  ;  it  consecrated  his  princely 
intellect  to  the  cause  of  evangelical  truth  ;  it  fitted  him 
to  speak  forth  in  trumpet  tones  to  Christendom,  and  to 
become  the  Moses  of  the  Exodus  of  the  Free  Church  of 
t  Scotland  from  its  bondage  to  State  patronage  and  con- 
trol. 

But  the  book  that  gave  a  new  shaping  to  his  career 
crossed  the  Atlantic.  It  rekindled  the  flarife  of  expiring 
devotion  in  the  Episcopal  Church  of  Virginia,  and  the 
evangelical  character  and  labors  of  Bishops  White,  and 
Madison,  and  Mead  cannot  be  depicted  except  with  Wil- 
berforce's  book  in  full  view  in  the  background.  Here 
we  pause.  But  the  stream,  the  fountain  head  of  which 
was  in  the  old  torn  copy  of  "  Bunny's  Resolution/7  and  • 
which  was  swelled  by  the  tributaries  of  Baxter's  "  Call," 
and  Doddridge's  "  Rise  and  Progress,"  and  Wilberforce's 
"  Practical  View,"  and  Legh  Richmond's  "  Dairyman's 
Daughter,"  does  not  pause.  It  is  flowing  still,  and  no- 
thing shall  arrest  its  rising  tide  and  swelling  current 
till  the  earth  is  covered  with  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord 
as  the  waters  cover  the  sea. 

It  is  only  rarely  that  we  can  attain  that  historic  ele- 
vation from  which  we  are  enabled  with  our  feeble  vision 
to  look  down  and  trace  the  streams  of  influence  winding 
their  way  in  silver  light.  Many  of  them  are  hidden  from 
view  as  they  course  along  through  overshadowed  marsh 
or  obscure  valleys  beyond  the  distant  hills.  But  they 
are  flowing,  although  unseen,  wherever  thought  finds 


INFLUENCE. 


3°3 


expression  or  there  are  hearts  to  be  impressed.  The 
rill  lias  its  mission  as  well  as  the  river  ;  the  dew-drop  as 
well  as  the  mighty  Amazon.  Proper  influence  in  the 
lower  circle  is  as  real  and  as  essential  as  that  which  is 
exerted  in  senates  and  cabinet  councils.  We  may  in 
vain  essay  to  trace  its  path,  but  to  the  eye  of  heaven  it 
may  be  like  the  stream  that  winds  its  way  through 
desert  sands  and  clothes  its  banks  with  herbage  and 
with  flowers.  But  sometimes  we  can  trace  it.  A  mo- 
ther's prayers  and  tears,  sisterly  fidelity,  parental  ex- 
ample, filial  piety  ;  how  often  have  these  been  fountains 
of  blessing  to  the  household  ;  how  often  have  they  mi- 
nistered strength  to  the  tempted,  or  filled  the  heart  of 
the  weary  pilgrim  with  joy,  or  proved  the  sources  of 
streams  that  have  borne  down  a  tide  of  blessing  to  after 
generations !  The  records  of  humble  life,  unread  by  the 
great  world,  are  filled  with  illustrations  of  the  power  of 
influence.  It  is  felt  by  "  village  Hampdens"  and  "  mute, 
inglorious  Miltons."  It  issues  forth  from  forest  sanc- 
tuaries, and  district  schoolrooms,  and  cottage  firesides. 
The  history  of  a  household,  properly  written,  would  be  a 
commentary  on  the  plastic  power  of  influence  derived 
from  precept  and  example. 

No  thoughtful  man  can  afford  to  overlook  or  disregard 
facts  like  these.  We  live  in  a  world  where  unseen  ele- 
ments are  giving  shape  to  human  character  and  human 
destiny  ;  where  we  are  forever  receiving  and  giving  off 
impressions  that  will  still  endure  when  the  chiselled 
lines  of  the  granite  have  crumbled,  and  the  headstones 
of  our  own  graves  shall  have  claimed  kindred  with  the 
dust  they  once  commemorated.  Is  it  not  a  solemn  world 
to  live  in  ?  Is  it  not  a  fearful  responsibility  that  rests 
upon  us  ?  And  how  can  that  responsibility  be  evaded  ? 


3°4 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


We  cannot  divest  ourselves  of  influence,  however  obscure 
our  sphere,  and  we  cannot  escape  from  it  except  by  going 
out  of  the  world.  It  is  as  essential  to  our  social  life  as 
the  air  we  breathe.  We  are  integral  parts  of  the  social 
organism.  The  blood  that  flows  through  the  veins  of  a 
single  member  circulates  abroad  till  it  has,  directly  or 
indirectly,  been  felt  in  the  entire  system. 

Who,  then,  can  fail  to  see  arid  confess  the  importance 
of  individual  influence — of  that  which  we  exert  now,  and 
that  which  will  survive  our  departure  from  earth  ?  For 
that  influence  we  are  responsible.  Every  day  we  are  de- 
termining what  it  shall  be.  It  cannot  be  simply  neutral ; 
it  must  of  necessity  be  for  good  or  evil.  It  must  be  on 
the  side  of  God  or  against  Him.  It  must  commend  or 
discountenance  religion.  And  is  it  of  no  account  if  our 
influence  may  contribute  to  decide  some  wavering  mind 
in  its  consideration  of  the  great  question  that  concerns 
its  final  destiny  ?  Who  would  not  pray  for  wisdom  to 
enable  him  to  speak  those  words  and  set  that  example 
which  shall  guide  others  to  the  living  fountain,  to  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  to  a  throne  of  grace  ?  Who,  knowing 
that  his  influence  will  live  on — "  a  life  beyond  life" — and 
endure  in  some  form,  however  imperceptible  to  human 
scrutiny,  for  ages  to  come,  will  not  confess  to  himself  the 
imperative  importance  of  guarding  that  influence  from 
all  that  is  contaminating,  and  sending  it  forth,  like  a 
tireless  and  white-robed  angel,  on  its  interminable  mis- 
sion of  charity  and  blessing  ? 


XXXIV. 

THE   TONGUE. 

*'  Death  and  life  are  in  the  power  of  the  tongue." — Paov.  xviii.  21. 

AMONG-  the  means  of  influence  possessed  by  men, 
not  the  least  worthy  of  our  attention  is  the  power 
of  the  tongue.  If  it  were  only  properly  controlled  and 
employed,  what  a  different  face  the  world  would  wear ! 
If  only  those  words  were  spoken  that  should  be,  what  a 
vast  change  would  come  over  these  scenes  of  human  so- 
ciety— a  change  such  as  would  bring  with  it  all  that  we 
could  ask  to  bless  our  sin-cursed  world,  and  change  the 
moral  waste  to  an  Eden.  Right  words,  the  fruit  of  right 
thoughts,  would  be  accompanied  by  right  deeds.  They 
would  breathe  abroad  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  purity. 
They  would  be  employed  to  repress  the  very  beginnings 
of  evil.  They  would  meet  the  first  symptoms  of  budding 
iniquity  with  indignant  rebuke. 

Such  a  result  we  are  bound  to  seek.  As  Christians  we 
can  aim  at  nothing  short  of  it. 

What  a  wonderful  faculty  is  that  of  human  speech !  It 
can  give  form  and  expression  to  each  thought  of  the 
mind  and  each  feeling  of  the  heart.  It  can  so  shape  it 
into  articulate  utterance,  so  embody  it,  that  it  can  take 
its  way  directly  into  the  soul  of  another,  there  confront- 
ing other  thoughts  or  mingling  with  them,  like  one  do- 

(305) 


306  LIFE  LESSONS. 

mesticated  at  a  strange  fireside.  It  gives  a  sort  of 
corporeal  existence  to  the  invisible,  impalpable  thought, 
clothes  its  spiritual  substance,  as  it  were,  with  flesh  and 
bones,  gives  it  such  a  personal  being  and  identity,  that 
its  lineaments  and  features  stand  out  as  if  on  the  paint- 
er's canvas,  so  that  when  wo  ha/e  met  it  once  we  can 
recognize  it  again. 

Ancient  fable  tells  us  of  a  certain  monster  known  by 
the  name  of  Proteus.  He  had  the  faculty  of  assuming 
any  shape  at  will.  He  might  be  a  tree  or  a  stone,  a  ser- 
pent or  a  dove,  a  lion  or  a  lamb,  and  from  each  of  these 
or  a  thousand  other  forms  he  could  easily  and  at  once 
pass  to  another  as  he  chose. 

Such  a  fable,  however,  is  realized  in  the  tongue.  It 
can  give  utterance  to  thoughts  as  various  as  the  objects 
that  meet  our  eyes.  It  can  be  the  dove  or  the  serpent, 
the  eagle  or  the  jackal.  It  can  bless  or  curse.  It  can 
whisper  slander  or  utter  praise.  It  can  speak  in  tones 
of  kindness,  or  send  forth  the  ravings  of  bitter  and  vin- 
dictive passion.  It  can  vent  the  oath,  or  pour  out  the 
homage  of  devout  and  humble  prayer.  It  can  set  before 
us  the  sublimest  truths  of  heaven,  or  utter  the  blasphemies 
of  the  world  of  woe.  It  can  carry  to  other  hearts  the 
sympathy  of  our  own,  or  mix  in  their  cup  of  anguish  new 
dregs  of  bitterness.  It  can  speak  in  the  sufferer's  ear 
in  tones  that  seem  like  heavenly  music,  or  give  back 
sounds  echoed  as  it  were  from  the  desperation  of  fiends. 
It  can  throw  a  holy  charm  around  the  hour  of  social  con- 
verse, or  it  can  poison  peace  by  the  harshness  of  its  ex- 
pressions. Now  it  becomes  a  sort  of  angel  guide  leading 
us  by  some  lofty  track  of  thought  up  to  the  throne,  and 
again  it  can  whisper  in  our  ear  the  diabolical  suggestions 
of  fallen  spirits.  It  can  assume  by  turns  every  person- 


THE  TONGUE. 


3°7 


ality,  and  portray  before  us  every  form  of  character.  It 
can  cherish  purity  or  vileness  ;  fan  the  fire  of  love  or  the 
flames  of  discord ;  speak  words  that  are  like  drawn 
swords,  or  such  as  find  their  emblem  in  the  olive  leaf. 
Who  does  not  know,  who  has  not  felt,  the  power  of  the 
tongue, — in  the  social  circle,  in  the  public  assembly,  in 
the  scenes  of  business,  pleasure  or  devotion.  I  know 
that  the  power  of  speech  is  various  with  different  indi- 
viduals. Some  have  it  to  a  greater  and  others  to  a  less 
degree.  In  some  cases  it  has  been  trained  to  what  seems 
an  almost  superhuman  effort.  It  can  hold  crowds  en- 
chanted upon  a  breath.  It  can  charm  them  with  a 
whisper.  It  can  hush  the  thronged  audience-room  till  it 
is  silent  as  the  grave,  and  then  again  carry  the  multitude 
away  by  a  resistless  tide  of  sympathy  till  there  outbursts 
the  long,  loud  shout  of  applause.  The  tongue  of  Demos- 
thenes— how  it  ruled  the  fierce  democracy  of  Athens,  and 
swayed  them  above  all  the  gold  of  Philip !  The  eloquence 
of  Cicero — how  it  carried  back  the  decaying  patrician 
pride  of  Rome  to  the  days  of  her  early  and  stern  se- 
verity, or  almost  charmed  it  into  forgetfulness  of  its  de- 
generacy and  disgrace !  The  tongue  of  Peter  the  Hermit 
preaching  through  Europe  the  crusade  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
till  the  leaven  of  his  enthusiasm  pervaded  the  mass  of  the 
nations,  and  they  cried  responsive  as  with  one  loud  shout, 
"  God  wills  it,"  and  rushed  madly  and  blindly  to  cover 
the  hills  of  Palestine  with  their  bleaching  bones, — White- 
field's  power  of  speech  that  could  melt  Franklin's  cold,  cal- 
culating utilitarianism  into  the  flow  of  impulsive  generosity, 
or  transport  the  polished,  courtly,  critical  Chesterfield, 
till,  beside  himself  and  carried  away  by  the  spirit  of  the 
scene  he  cried  out  with  shuddering  alarm — the  eloquence 
of  our  own  Henry,  whose  words  communicated  their 


308  LIFE  LESSONS. 

electric  shock  to  other  minds  and  decided  the  question 
that  ushered  in  the  scenes  of  the  Eevolution — these  all 
illustrate  the  strange  power  which  God  has  sometimes 
given  to  the  tongue  of  man.  It  is  a  wonderful,  a  fear- 
fully wonderful  gift ! 

But  you  may  say  all  do  not  possess  it.  In  fact,  few 
do.  It  is  rarely  bestowed.  But  then,  if  you  will  con- 
sider it,  the  great  feats  of  the  power  of  speech  on  the 
public  theatre,  are  but  rare  and  transient  things.  They 
come  once  in  an  age.  They  are  oftener  remembered  for 
what  they  were,  than  for  what  they  have  accomplished. 
They  were  phenomena  out  of  the  wonted  course  of 
things.  They  rose  above  the  daily  routine  of  life  like 
mountain  summits,  and,  like  them,  too,  above  the  sphere 
of  common  appreciation.  The  great  work  that  changes 
society,  remolds  the  nations,  renews  the  heart,  is  going 
on  far  below,  around  the  mountain's  base.  The  tongue, 
in  the  house  and  by  the  way,  in  the  store,  the  office,  the 
saloon,  the  parlor  :  in  the  schoolroom  and  by  the  domestic 
hearth,  is  doing  a  work  far  mightier  than  it  is  doing  in 
the  crowded  court  room,  or  in  legislative  halls,  or  even 
in  the  pulpit.  It  speaks  to  fewer  hearers  perhaps,  but 
infinitely  oftener  and  it  is  heard  and  comprehended  bet- 
ter. It  is  not  addressed  to  the  listless.  Its  eloquence  is 
not  wasted.  It  is  not  above  the  capacity  of  the  hearer. 
It  does  not  flow  in  rounded  periods  or  elaborate  sentences 
it  is  true,  but  its  idiomatic  phraseology  is  not  the  less 
forcible  for  all  that.  Each  word  tells.  It  provokes  an 
answer.  It  is  a  link  in  a  conversation  that  fuses  minds 
together.  One  comment  by  the  fireside  may  neutralize 
the  effect  of  a  sermon.  One  slighting,  jesting  remark 
may  have  force  enough  to  break  off  the  truth-tipped 
point  of  an  arrow  of  conviction  and  send  a  soul  to  hell. 


THE  TONGUE.  309 

Review  your  own  experience.  What  do  you  remember 
best?  What  has  impressed  you  most?  In  few  instances 
the  preacher's  words,  or  the  conclusions  of  the  eloquent 
moralist.  It  is  the  words  you  heard  in  ordinary  conver- 
sation, from  the  lips  of  a  friend  or  associate,  addressed 
to  few  ears  beside  your  own — perhaps  to  yours  only. 
The  voices  of  loved  ones  in  your  early  home,  that  spoke 
the  lessons  of  parental  anxiety,  or  brotherly  or  sisterly 
affection ;  the  jests,  or  boasts,  or  opinions  of  some  older 
or  more  experienced  companion  ;  perhaps  the  foul-mouthed 
vulgarity  of  abandoned  men  ;  perhaps  the  witticisms  or 
wild  fancies  of  gay  and  reckless  revellers  ;  perhaps  the 
short  sentence  that  whispered  in  your  ear,  in  warning 
tones,  the  epitomized  experience  of  a  lifetime  ;  perhaps 
the  sneer,  half  hypocritic,  half  malicious,  that  drew  you 
to  regard  duty,  and  truth,  and  holiness,  as  hateful,  obso- 
lete notions,  just  fit  for  a  dying  man,  or  a  heartless  as- 
cetic ;  perhaps  the  words  that  spoke  the  creed  of 
Mammon,  or  the  liturgy  of  his  worshippers  ;  perhaps 
those  that  expressed  the  low  and  sordid  morality  of  the 
worldling  ;  or  it  may  be  something  better  than  these, — 
the  kind  counsel  of  the  true  friend,  who  pointed  out  a 
better  path  of  life  ; — these,  and  things  like  these,  are 
what  the  mind  retains.  They  fasten  on  it  with  a  grasp 
that  outlasts  every  other.  Only  the  last  day  will  reveal 
to  us  the  power  of  a  word — the  power  of  a  single  utter- 
ance. To  tell  what  a  word  has  done,  what  a  word  may 
do,  might  excite  your  incredulity.  It  is  the  seed  of  a 
harvest,  the  pivot  on  which  a  life  has  revolved,  the  motto 
and  watchword  of  an  eternal  existence. 

Can  you  tell  how  the  career  of  men  is  shaped  even  for 
time  ?  How  often  is  it  done  by  words !  A  sailor's 
yarn  makes  a  Nelson  or  a  Paul  Jones.  The  fashionable 


3io 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


nonsense  an!  lofty  airs  of  an  assuming  fop  brings  out 
miniature  N  ashes,  Bruramels,  and  D'Orsays  in  abundance. 
Boasts  of  an  easy  conscience  and  lax  morality  turn  tho 
heads  of  heedless  youth,  and  make  them  knaves  or 
sharpers  before  they  are  men.  Sacred  words,  shaped  to 
profanation  and  blasphemy  by  vile  men,  distort  the  moral 
image  of  the  soul  for  time  and  eternity.  The  Judgment 
will  reveal  how  a  sentence,  a  word,  gave  the  cast 
to  its  destiny.  A  few  words  from  President  Dwight 
secured  to  American  science  the  honored  name  of 
Silliman.,  The  remonstrance  of  an  idle  classmate 
saying  to  Paley — "  It  is  a  sin  for  you  to  be  idle  ;  you 
have  talent,  you  can  do  something  in  the  world  ;  I  can- 
not/7 gave  shape  to  the  life  that  procured  us  the  "  Natural 
Theology"  and  "Evidences  of  Christianity."  McCheyne, 
of  Scotland,  was  once  passing  a  foundry,  and  stopped 
to  gaze  on  the  bright  glow  of  the  furnace.  He  turned  to 
the  man  that  fed  it,  and  said  :  "  Does  that  fire  mind  you 
of  any  thing  ?"  That  was  all,  and  he  went  his  way ;  but 
the  man  he  addressed  never  rested  till  he  had  heeded  the 
admonition  to  "  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come."  Henry  II. 
of  England  let  drop  in  hasty  passion  a  few  words  that 
resulted  in  the  murder  of  the  Archbishop  Thomas  a 
Becket.  That  deed  convulsed  all  England,  and  affected 
its  condition  for  centuries. 

But  it  is  needless  to  recapitulate  illustrations  of  the 
truth.  If  character  has  influence,  words  are  its  repre- 
sentatives. A  whole  character  may  be  imprinted  on  a 
sentence,  and  that  sentence,  like  a  stereotyped  plate,  may 
go  on  imprinting  its  image,  and  reproducing  itself  from 
day  to  day,  from  age  to  age.  In  one  sense  a  word  spoken 
never  dies.  Like  our  influence,  and  a  part  of  it,  it  lives 
on  to  the  judgment.  As  the  thunder  among  the  moun- 


THE  TONGUE.  3n 

tains  will  roll  on  from  crag  to  crag,  verberating  and  re- 
verberating to  the  last,  so  the  word  spoken  will  echo  on 
and  on,  till  its  tone  is  mingled  with  the  blast  of  that 
trumpet  that  shall  awake  the  dead.  The  heart  of  each, 
that  hears  it  is  a  sounding-board  to  transmit  its  tones. 

Such,  then,  is  the  power  of  words.  They  are  thoughts 
incorporated  ;  fitted  for  active  service,  going  out  armed 
to  their  work,  bearing  the  sword  or  the  olive  leaf,  win- 
ning or  assaulting,  attacking  or  repelling,  all  they  meet. 
We  marshal  them,  and  they  are  a  mighty  host.  Single, 
they  may  be  Goliahs  ;  united  and  multiplied,  they  may  be 
a  phalanx. 

Think  how  many  words  must  go  to  make  up  the  utter- 
ance of  a  life ;  how  every  one,  even  the  idle  word  for 
which  we  are  to  account  in  the  judgment,  makes  and 
leaves  its  impression  ;  how  it  essays  to  stamp  some  fea- 
ture or  feeling  of  our  hearts  upon  others7  experience ; 
and  then  estimate,  if  you  can,  the  power  of  words  !  It 
defies  computation.  We  might  better  attempt  to  count 
the  sands  on  the  seashore.  We  might  as  well  try  to 
number  the  raindrops.  Our  words  are  the  verbal  image 
of  ourselves.  If  we  could  arrest  them  and  look  them  in 
the  face,  we  should  see  ourselves  reflected  in  a  mirror, 
and  perhaps  be  forced  to  blush.  How  many  daguerreo- 
types of  our  inner  being  have  we  thus  cast  off,  by  which 
those  that  gaze  on  them  are  changed  into  the  same  im- 
age !  Surely  the  power  of  speech  is  wonderful,  fearfully 
wonderful,  as  an  element  of  probation.  The  inference  of 
our  responsibility  for  it  then  is  plain. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  power  and  responsibility  are 
justly  proportioned  to  each  other.  The  degree  of  the 
first  is  the  measure  of  the  last.  The  man  of  ten  talents 
has  a  more  fearful  account  to  render  than  the  possessor 


312 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


of  five,  or  two,  or  one.  For  all  that  we  have,  little  or 
much,  we  are  held  responsible  to  the  same  high  tribunal. 
For  everything  that  confers  influence,  for  everything 
that  can  be  used  for  God  or  perverted  to  evil,  for  every- 
thing by  which  we  may  bless  or  curse  the  world,  honor 
or  dishonor  God,  we  must  be  held  to  a  strict  account. 

The  power  of  speech  and  the  use  we  make  of  it,  will 
not,  cannot,  therefore,  be  overlooked.  It  is  a  talent,  and 
not  a  mean  or  trivial  one,  which  we  all  possess.  We  may 
have  it  indeed  in  different  degrees.  In  one  case  it  may 
be  rough  and  unwieldy,  in  another  it  may  be  as  the  pol- 
ished Damascus  blade.  But  whether  it  be  like  the  beam 
of  Goliah's  spear,  or  only  as  the  pebble-stone  out  of  the 
brook,  in  either  case  it  is  summoned  to  do  service  for 
God.  We  hold  it  in  trust.  We  are  to  use  it  as  stew- 
ards who  are  to  give  account.  It  is  capital  on  which  we 
are  to  trade  for  God,  for  eternity.  Not  one  fraction  or 
farthing  of  it  may  be  wasted  or  misemployed.  This  is, 
indeed,  a  high  standard,  but  it  is  the  true  one.  Devise 
any  other  if  you  can.  Surely  you  will  not  class  yourself 
with  the  number  of  those  reprobated  by  inspiration  as 
"  fools,"  who  say,  "  Our  tongue  is  our  own,  who  is  Lord 
over  us?"  You  will  not  presume  to  contradict  Christ 
when  he  says,  "  by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  justified  and 
by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  condemned."  You  will  not 
presume  to  annul  that  eternal  enactment,  "  for  every  idle 
word  that  men  speak,  they  shall  give  account  in  the  day 
of  judgment."  You  must  admit,  to  the  full,  your  respon- 
sibility for  the  use  you  mike  of  your  tongue. 

How  then  shall  it  be  employed  ? 

Not  at  random.  There  is  verily  such  a  thing  as  a  duty 
of  silence.  In  some  cases  we  may  serve  God  and  our 
neighbor  best  by  saying  nothing.  We  can  be  altogether 


THE  TONGUE.  313 

the  most  useful  and  serviceable  by  "  holding  our  tongue." 
This  may  seem  to  some  a  very  simple  thing  and  of  easy 
attainment,  and  in  some  cases  it  may  be.  But  in  others 
it  is  more  arduous.  To  know  when  we  ought  to  be  silent, 
and  to  act  on  our  knowledge,  is  a  great  thing.  Some 
lack  the  first,  and  some  the  last,  and  some  both.  But 
there  is  a  power  in  silence  that  is  most  expressive  to  ap- 
prove or  condemn* 

John  Jay,  when  ambassador  to  Prance,  was  once  in  a 
company  of  infidels  at  Paris.  They  talked  on  recklessly, 
venting  their  spite  at  the  Bible.  Jay  was  silent.  It 
troubled  them.  He  did  not  pronounce  their  shibboleth. 
They  could  not  go  on  while  that  grave,  just,  true  man  sat 
there  a  silent  spectator,  a  sort  of  solemn  judge,  riveting 
at  last  their  gaze.  No  wonder  his  bearing  forced  them 
to  speak,  and  when  they  asked,  as  if  to  relieve  themselves 
of  their  confusion  and  provoke  his  acquiescence,  "  Do  you 
believe  in  Jesus  Christ?"  his  silence  had  prepared  the 
way  for  his  confusing  and  confounding  answer,  "  I  do,  and 
I  thank  God  that  I  do."  He  was  silent  at  the  right  time, 
and  spoke  at  the  right  time,  and  when  he  spoke  said  the 
right  thing. 

In  other  cases  silence  might  justly  be  construed  into 
acquiescence.  There  are  times  when  we  are  called  upon 
to  speak.  It  requires  study  and  discretion  to  know  when 
these  occasions  arise,  and  to  know  what  to  speak.  Much 
mischief  may  be  done  by  the  wrong  word  :  much  good 
by  the  right  one.  The  celebrated  Chancellor  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Paris,  John  Gerson,  than  whom  an  abler  man 
was  not  to  be  found  among  the  thinkers  of  his  century, 
on  writing  out  advice  for  a  friend  with  whom  he  might, 
if  lie  had  chosen,  have  communicated  orall/,  gave  as  a 
reason,  that  rarely  had  he  ever  entered  into  a  lengthened 
14 


314  LIFE  LES80N8. 

conversation,  but  upon  review  he  discovered  that  he  had 
said  something  that  he  regretted  and  would  wish  re- 
called. 

There  are  some  persons  whose  tongues  seem  to  have 
solved  the  puzzling  problem  of  perpetual  motion.  Like 
the  clapper  of  a  windmill,  the  lightest  breath  will  disturb 
their  equilibrium. 

In  such  cases  the  conversation  may  well  be  expected 
to  be  a  very  shallow  stream.  Instead  of  speaking  what 
they  have  to  say,  and  then  like  the  Sandwich  Islander, 
feeling  what  he  wrote,  "  that  thought  is  done,"  they  string 
word  upon  word,  until  by  endless  repetition  they  exhaust 
at  once  the  patience  of  the  hearer  and  their  own  credit 
for  sense.  Indeed  any  other  sounds  may  answer  as  well 
as  those  they  utter,  and  they  compare,  not  creditably  to 
themselves,  with  him  of  whom  the  poet  says  : 

"  He- went  a  whistling  for  the  want  of  thought." 

There  was  some  significance  in  that  lesson  of  the  old 
Philosopher,  who  insisted  that  his  pupils  should  first  attain 
that  preliminary  of  wisdom,  the  power  of  silence.  Be- 
fore they  asked  a  question  they  must  learn  to  listen.  It 
involved  one  of  the  greatest  pieces  of  self-mastery — the 
mastery  of  the  tongue.  To  converse  well — -letting  alone 
the  matter  of  duty,  we  must  learn  when  to  be  silent. 

Cowper  never  wrote  a  truer  thing  than  when  he  said, 

'*  Words  learned  by  rote  a  parrot  may  rehearse 
But  talking  is  not  always  to  converse  ; 
Not  more  distinct  from  harmony  divine, 
The  constant  creaking  of  a  country  sign." 

This  leads  us  to  remark  again  that  the  tongue  should 


THE  TONGUE.  31J 

never  be  suffered  to  become  the  instrument  of  passion. 
If  anger  or  envy  stir  within  your  heart,  stifle  it  there. 
You  may  sometimes  smother  a  fire,  that  if  once  suffered 
to  find  vent,  could  not  be  extinguished  bycopious  streams. 
A  tongue  mastered  by  passion  is  a  terrible  thing.  It 
seems  as  Scripture  expresses  it,  to  be  literally  "  set  on* 
fire  of  Hell."  It  blazes  out,  as  in  flames  of  the  pit,  with 
curses  and  imprecations,  oaths  and  blasphemies.  There 
are  tongues  to  which  vulgarity  and  profanity  will  not 
adhere,  until  passion  has  prepared  them  for  it.  Then 
they  are  possessed  apparently  by  the  evil  one.  The  wires 
that  move  the  tongue  seem  actually  worked  by  his  fingers, 
and  we  listen  to  speech  which  evidently  befits  such  an 
original. 

In  some  cases  again  there  may  be  a  high  degree  of 
earnestness,  that  is  perfectly  justifiable,  but  there  are 
proper  limits  within  which  even  this  should  be  confined. 
Cowper  was  not  the  only  one  who  could  say 

"  Preserve  me  from  a  thing  I  (?read  and  hate, 
A  duel  in  the  form  of  a  debate." 

Conversation  which  ought  to  be  made,  and  which  may 
be  made  the  charm  of  social  life,  should  never  become 
its  curse.  And  yet  it  will  be,  if  evil  surrnisings  or  bitter 
disputings  are  allowed  to  change  it  into  the  instrument 
of  personal  assault,  or  self-exhibition  indulging  in  taunts, 
contradictions,  reproaches,  or  assumptions. 

There  are  times  indeed,  when  sin  lifts  its  head,  and 
wrong  goes  boldly  forth,  when  words  ought  to  be 
swords  unscabbarded,  and  sentences  battalions,  when  the 
utterances  of  truth  and  soberness  should  be  like  those  of 
Paul,  when  he  made  the  guilty  Felix  tremble  on  his 
judgment  seat.  There  are  times  when  words  should  be, 


316  LIFE  LESSONS. 

as  it  were,  deeds,  every  one  a  blow  in  defence  of  trampled 
justice,  and  every  man  then  who  wavers  or  withholds  his 
utterance,  or  sells  his  tongue  to  silence,  is  guilty  of  trea- 
son to  the  majesty  of  truth.  It  had  better  be  cut  out 
than  left  to  be  guilty  of  such  ignominious  dereliction  of 
duty.  The  delinquent  might  well  imprecate  upon  it  the 
curse  that  David  invited,  should  he  become  unfaithful  to 
the  sacred  city,  that  it  might  "  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth." 

But  while  the  tongue  is  not  to  be  made  the  instrument 
of  passion,  it  should  be  the  organ  of  kindness  and  charity. 
What  a  power  of  blessing  is  stored  up  in  it !  Kind  words 
are  the  sweetest  music.  There  is  something  heavenly  in 
their  tone.  In  the  jar  and  tumult  of  surrounding  pas- 
sion, they  seem  to  whisper  like  Jesus  on  the  troubled  sea, 
"  Peace  be  still."  The  burdened  heart  forgets  its  load. 
The  fevered  sufferer  loses  something  of  his  restlessness, 
and  feels  the  charm  of  the  magic  utterance.  The  world 
looks  the  brighter,  and  flowers  more  beautiful,  for  kind 
words.  The  humblest  home — the  rudest  hovel  becomes 
a  kind  of  palace  of  content.  Heaven  does  not  seem  so 
strange  a  world  to  us,  for  angels  hover  round  our  hearth- 
stone. And  the  influence  goes  abroad  with  us.  As  the 
oil  poured  on  the  troubled  waters  will  calm  them,  inso- 
much that  where  they  dashed  madly  in  foam,  they  sink 
at  length  to  a  glassy  surface  on  which  heaven  is  mirrored, 
so  it  is  with  the  power  of  kind  words.  They  hush  the 
agitated  and  restless  social  elements  to  repose,  and  spread 
abroad  a  hallowed  influence. 

But  the  tongue  may  be  made  an  instrument  of  slander. 
No  one  questions  the  power  of  malice  when  it  resorts  to 
this  weapon.  Its  method  then  compares  with  an  open 
Dublic  charge,  as  an  assassin  does  with  a  soldier  in  the 


THE  TONGUE. 


317 


ranks  on  the  open  field.  It  is  an  enemy  that  stabs  in  the 
dark.  It  is  a  foe  shooting  from  behind  a  hedge.  It  13 
an  Indian  darting  his  tomahawk  at  a  sleeping  victim.  A 
word  that  secretly  assails  another's  character  is  a  blast 
of  death.  Though  uttered  in  a  breath,  it  is  the  breath 
of  a  miasma. 

Slander  is  the  tongue's  meanest  work — both  cowardly 
and  impure.  If  you  dip  your  hands  in  filth,  to  fling  it 
at  another,  you  pollute  your  hands  to  stain  his  dress,  and 
only  make  yourself  the  more  contemptible  of  the  two; 
and  if  you  use  the  tongue  instead  of  the  fingers,  it  only 
transfers  the  outward  disgrace  to  the  soul  within. 

And  as  to  the  use  of  Tile  language,  which  to  some 
seems  congenial,  it  is  a  sin  not  only  against  God,  but 
against  the  tongue  itself.  When  this  is  so  employed,  it 
must  be  because  all  true  and  pure  taste  is  corrupted,  for 
the  tongue  was  never  given  to  relish  foul  words,  any 
more  than  vile  food.  And  it  should  be  borne  in  mind 
that,  when  it  is  so  perverted,  it  is  one  of  the  most  efficient 
agents  of  evil,  let  loose  on  earth.  A  foul  or  obscene 
word,  though  clothed  about  with  elegant  paragraphs,  is 
an  apostle  of  depravity.  It  may  enter  the  heart  in  dis- 
guise, but  it  is  as  Satan  entered  into  Eden  to  pollute  and 
destroy.  A  serpent  lurks  under  the  angel  robes  of  elo- 
quent expression.  Many  is  the  mind  into  which  the 
tongue  of  the  vile  man  has  introduced  some  foul  image, 
that  has  left  a  serpent's  trail  behind  it,  as  it  crawled  in 
and  coiled  itself  about  the  heart's  core,  folding  it  like  a 
guardian  demon — not  angel — for  final  doom. 

But  preeminently  the  tongue  should  be  consecrated ;  it 
should  be  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord."  The  words  that  we 
speak  should  be  words  of  truth  and  soberness.  Liberty 
of  speech  is  a  noble  privilege,  but  God  gives  no  liberty 


318  LIFE  LESSONS. 

to  speak  the  teachings  of  sin.  Our  freedom  is  linked 
with  accountability.  Speak  as  you  will,  but  remember 
you  are  to  be  judged. 

How  much  holy  work,  if  the  tongue  was  a  consecrated 
thing,  might  be  done  for  God  by  it!  Not  in  the  pulpit 
only,  or  in  the  hall  of  debate,  or  on  the  lecturer's  plat- 
form, or  in  the  courts  of  justice,  but  in  the  daily  walks 
of  life,  in  humble  scenes,  by  the  fireside,  in  the  social 
circle,  in  familiar  conversation,  in  confidential  inter- 
course. If  the  Gospel  of  Christ  dwelt  in  every  heart, 
and  the  love  of  Christ  on  every  tongue,  all  of  us  would 
become  evangelists.  Our  words  in  the  ears  of  a  dying 
world,  would  be  as  the  message  of  a  prophet,  rich  with 
the  peace  and  hope  of  heaven.  And  why  should  they 
not  be?  Why  should  not  yours  be  an  example  to 
others  ? 

Do  you  not  hope  at  last  to  be  numbered  among  the 
angel  throng  that  surround  the  throne  ?  And  if  so,  how 
will  your  tongue  be  employed  ?  They  will  be  clothed  in 
holiness.  They  will  speak  the  praise  and  sing  the  glory 
of  Him  who  is  glorious  in  holiness.  Not  an  utterance 
will  escape  them  that  might  not  be  whispered  in  the  ear 
of  God,  that  might  not  be  echoed  from  world  to  world, 
throughout  the  universe,  or  which,  wherever  it  might  be 
heard,  would  not  be  hailed  as  pure  and  blessed. 

And  shall  that  tongue  on  which  such  an  honor  waits 
degrade  itself  to  the  vileness  and  frivolity  of  earth? 
Shall  it  forget  its  high  destiny  and  bandy  words  in 
foolish  jest?  Shall  it — aspiring  to  an  angel's  place — 
act  rather  a  devil's  part,  and  whisper  sin,  when  it  is  yet 
to  sing  "  the  new  song  ??; 


XXXV. 

THE    POWER    OP    EXAMPLE. 

"Be  thou  an  example." — 1  TIM.  iv.  12. 

THE  power  of  example  is  unquestionable.  It  spi'iugg 
as  a  necessity  from  the  circumstances  of  our  social 
condition,  and  the  susceptibilities  of  human  nature.  If 
there  was  but  one  man  in  the  world,  or  if  all  dwelt  apart 
like  hermits  in  their  solitude,  example  would  be  a  word 
without  meaning.  But  man  is  a  social  being.  He  has  a 
social  nature.  It  is  this  that  brings  us  together  in  fami- 
lies, societies,  communities,  states,  confederations,  nations. 
That  cluster  of  houses  which  you  see  afar  in  the  quiet 
valley,  forming  a  humble  village,  has  a  meaning,  and  fur- 
nishes you  one  definition  of  man, — as  good,  certainly,  as 
the  famous  one  of  Plato — a  gregarious  animal,  one  that 
loves  to  live  in  society,  in  the  neighborhood  of  others. 
Such  association  makes  one  man  with  his  life,  words, 
deeds,  known  to  his  neighbor.  These  are  placed  before 
each  as  his  book  is  before  the  student  to  read  and  study. 
They  are  the  book  of  human  nature,  and  if  we  turn  from 
every  other,  we  cannot  turn  from  this.  It  meets  us  every 
where,  making  the  whole  world  our  schoolroom,  so  that 
in  our  houses,  at  our  business,  in  the  street,  in  the  public 
assembly,  we  are,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  lessons  to  one  an- 
other. 

And  then  another  definition  of  man  is  that  of  an  imi- 

(319) 


320 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


tative  animal.  What  he  sees  others  do,  he  learns  to  do 
himself.  This  susceptibility  to  imitation  is  not  the  re- 
sult of  reason,  or  the  fruit  of  consideration.  It  is,  in 
fact,  strongest  where  reason  is  weakest,  in  the  child,  al- 
though it  never  probably  entirely  disappears.  You  may, 
perhaps,  on  some  occasion  when  you  have  been  engaged 
in  earnest  speech  have  had  your  attention  called  to  the 
little  child  before  you,  studying  you  as  a  lesson,  and  per- 
haps imitating  your  manner  or  gesture,  or  trying  to 
mouth  your  words. 

This  imitative  faculty,  especially  in  early  life,  is  a  kind 
of  necessity  of  our  being.  It  needs  to  be  most  active, 
then,  when  we  are  becoming  fitted  to  the  new,  strange 
world  around  us.  Just  think  what  a  vast  number  of 
sounds  a  child  must  learn  to  imitate,  in  order  to  express 
its  wants,  and  all  usually  acquired,  to  the  most  exact  in- 
tonation, before  it  is  six  years  old !  Think  how  many 
things  it  has  learned  to  do  at  that  age  by  means  of  the 
power  of  imitation!  What  a  wonderful  susceptibility 
all  this  indicates !  And  it  is  necessary.  Yet  what  a 
danger  of  perversion  often  accompanies  it !  As  evil  is 
more  readily  learned  than  good,  so  this  susceptibility  in 
a  false  direction  is  morbidly  and  precociously  active. 
How  quickly  a  child  falling  into  the  evil  company  of 
those  a  little  older  than  itself,  learns  to  be  like  them ; 
can  recite,  at  a  second's  notice,  all  their  vulgar  slang,  all 
their  pet  phrases,  all  their  obscene  or  profane  language ! 
Their  manners,  their  gestures,  their  modes  of  speech  and 
tone,  will  sometimes  be  copied  with  a  surprising  accur- 
acy, and  a  whole  company  sometimes  will  so  taint  one 
another  by  the  power  of  example  and  imitation,  that  they 
seem  as  like  as  coins  struck  from  the  same  die.  And 
how  fully  this  holds  true  with  youth  gathered  in  acad- 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE.  321 

emies,  or  colleges,  or  professional  schools,  few  who  have 
not  seen,  are  able  to  appreciate.  One  leading  mind  will 
sometimes  furnish  the  example  that  sets  the  fashion.  It 
has  a  power  over  the  others  like  the  sun  over  the  plan- 
ets ;  it  holds  them  around  it,  each  in  its  orbit,  like 
attendant  satellites,  receiving  from  the  power  of  its  at- 
traction, the  law  that  regulates  their  motion.  There  are 
few  minds  comparatively  of  so  firm  a  texture  as  to  resist 
the  influence,  and  make  orbits  of  their  own.  You  may 
meet  young  men,  who  imagine  they  are  very  strong- 
minded  in  rising  above  the  puritanical  notions  of  their 
early  training,  and  who  fling  off  the  restraints  of  common 
sense,  as  a  madman  would  his  straight-jacket,  who  have 
made  a  mistake  just  as  gross  as  that  of  a  drowning  man 
who  imagined  he  had  learned  to  swim,  or  that  of  one 
jumping  from  a  church-steeple  that  he  had  learned  to 
fly.  The  poor,  pitiable  fool  becomes  the  victim  of  his 
deluded  and  deluding  fancies.  He  has  become  so  con- 
fused morally  by  the  example  of  his  profligate  or  reckless 
associates,  that  he  has  not  sense  enough  left  to  see  that 
instead  of.  being  very  strong-minded,  he  is  very  weak- 
minded,  a  piece  of  wax  that  every  body  stamps  his  seal 
on,  till  a  thousand  confused  images,  each  obliterating  all 
but  the  fragments  of  its  predecessor,  leave  him  a  perfect 
nondescript,  without  a  single  line  or  angle  of  character 
that  is  sure  to  last  long  enough  to  bear  being  defined. 

And  you  may  see  the  power  of  example  over  this  imi- 
tative faculty  of  man  in  other  things.  What  is  fashion, 
what  is  the  current  meaning  of  the  word  ?  Something 
to  imitate,  something  that  is  imitated.  There  are  some 
zones  of  human  society  where  the  highest  conception  of 
Omnipotence,  or  what  might  be  taken  for  a  God,  a  thing 
"  to  be  glorified  and  enjoyed  forever,"  is — fashion.  There 
14* 


3 22  LIFE  LESSONS. 

are  persons  who  are  incarnate  lumps  of  fashion  ;  within, 
their  thoughts  are  fashion ;  without,  their  clothes  are 
fashion.  Fashion  governs  them  as  much  as  the  moon 
does  the  tides.  And  yet  fashion  is  but  one  result 
of  the  power  of  example.  Men  do  as  their  fellows  do. 
JThey  dress,  speak,  think,  act  by  the  rules  of  fashion. 
One  coward's  example  on  the  field  of  battle,  one  de- 
serter ?s  going  over  to  the  foe,  has  placed  a  crown  on  one 
man's  head  and  torn  it  from  another's  ;  has,  in  fact, 
transferred  an  empire.  If  you  go  into  a  community  or  a 
city  where  dissipation  prevails,  the  strength  of  the  vice 
is  in  the  power  of  example.  Men  will  swear,  gamble, 
drink,  carouse,  by  falling  into  a  society  or  company  with 
which  it  is  the  fashion  to  do  so.  Even  men  without  prin- 
ciple of  their  own,  will  be  restrained  by  the  example  of 
the  good.  When  Lord  Peterborough  lodged  for  a  season 
with  Penelon,  the  piety  and  virtue  of  the  latter  had  such 
effect  upon  the  nobleman  that  he  exclaimed  at  parting, 
"  If  I  stay  here  any  longer  I  shall  become  a  Christian  in 
spite  of  myself."  "  The  example  of  a  pious  slave  has  some- 
times been  made  the  means  of  a  master's  conversion. 
Many  anecdotes  might  be  given  to  illustrate  the  sancti- 
fied and  effectual  influence  of  holy  example. 

The  daughter  of  an  impenitent  mother  was  about  to 
make  a  profession  of  her  faith  in  Christ.  It  wrought 
deeply  upon  the  mother's  heart.  "  Well,"  said  she,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  will  resist  no  longer.  How  can  I 
bear  to  see  my  dear  child  love  and  read  the  Scriptures, 
while  I  never  look  into  the  Bible  ;  to  see  her  retire  and 
seek  God,  while  I  never  pray ;  to  see  her  going  to  the 
Lord's  table,  while  his  death  is  nothing  to  me  1"  "  Ah  !" 
said  she,  to  the  minister  who  spoke  with  her  of  her  daugh- 
ter's intention,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  yes ;  I  know  she  is 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE. 


323 


right  and  I  am  wrong.  I  have  seen  her  firm  under  re- 
proach, and  patient  under  provocation,  and  cheerful  in 
all  her  sufferings.  When  in  her  late  illness  she  was  look- 
ing for  dissolution,  heaven  stood  in  her  face.  0  that  I 
were  as  fit  to  die !  I  ought  to  have  taught  her,  but  I  am 
sure  she  has  taught  me.  How  can  I  bear  to  see  her  join- 
ing the  church  of  God,  and  leaving  me  behind,  perhaps 
forever."  From  that  hour  she  prayed  in  earnest  that  the 
God  of  her  child  would  be  her  God,  and  soon  they  were 
seen  walking  together  in  "  the  way  that  is  everlasting." 

It  is  thus  that  the  example  of  a  holy  life  or  an  evil  life 
multiplies  itself.  We  are  addressed  by  it  as  imitative 
beings,  breathing  the  atmosphere  and  catching  up  the 
opinions  that  surround  us.  Even  while  we  gaze  upon  it, 
we  feel  its  transforming  power.  It  is  insensibly  im- 
printing its  image  on  our  hearts.  We  become  accustomed 
to  it,  and  if  it  be  hateful,  gradually  lose  our  repugnance 
to  it.  It  is  in  the  study  of  example  that  we  feel  espe- 
cially the  force  of  Pope's  lines  : 

*'  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mein, 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen  ; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 

But  the  power  of  example  is  seen  still  more  when  we 
compare  it  with  other  sources  of  influence.  It  is  the 
most  effectual  of  all  preachers.  Words  are  powerful, 
but  "  actions  speak  louder  than  words."  These  last  are 
mighty,  but  example  is  mightier.  The  poet  has  said  of 
words : 

"  Words  are  things,  and  a  small  drop  of  ink, 
Falling  like  dew  upon  a  thought,  produces 
That  which  makes  thousands,  perhaps  millions,  think." 


324 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


Yet  that  word  will  die  away  on  your  ear  ;  that  thought 
will  vanish  with  the  closed  book.  You  may  forget  the 
one,  you  may  neglect  the  other.  But  example  cannot  so 
easily  be  set  aside.  The  logic  of  a  man's  life  is  mightier 
than  the  eloquence  of  speech.  He  may  talk  like  an  an- 
gel of  the  beauty  of  virtue  and  the  excellence  of  religion, 
but  if  his  life  is  that  of  a  devil,  he  refutes  his  own  argu- 
ments faster  than  he  can  bring  them  forward.  And  so 
on  the  other  hand,  the  life  may  have  an  eloquence  that 
preaches  beyond  the  power  of  language,  the  excellence 
and  duty  of  religion.  A  young  man  who  was  once  about 
to  be  ordained  as  a  Christian  minister,  stated  that  at  one 
period  of  his  life  he  had  been  nearly  betrayed  into  the 
principles  of  infidelity,  "  but,"  he  added,  "  there  was  one 
argument  in  favor  of  Christianity  which  I  could  never 
refute,  the  consistent  conduct  of  my  own  father."  It  was 
not  the  words  that  had  been  taught  him,  it  was  not  the 
arguments  of  learned  men,  it  was  not  the  weight  of  au- 
thority, it  was  not  the  pulpit  lessons  of  the  Sabbath,  it 
was  the  consistent  conduct  of  his  own  father  that  proved 
his  safeguard.  There  was  a  power  in  parental  example 
from  which  he  could  not  break  away.  Home  example  is 
something  that  a  child  can  understand.  It  is  the  alpha- 
bet of  life's  spelling-book,  that  it  knows  by  heart,  before 
it  can  spell  its  first  word  in  the  primer.  The  catechism 
of  parental  example  is  far  more  important  and  effectual 
on  the  young  mind,  than  any  composed  by  great  divines 
or  learned  scholars,  than  any  that  is  taught  by  question 
and  answer.  And  it  is  easier  learned.  There  are  no 
hard  words  in  it.  It  does  not  need  an  interpreter.  Its 
doctrines  are  plain  and  simple — level  to  a  child's  com- 
prehension. It  needs  no  illustration.  It  is  all  illustra- 
tion itself.  Its  lessons  are  life  pictures,  read  at  a  glance. 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE.  325 

Little  may  a  parent  be  aware  of  that  infantile  sagacity 
that  translates  things  before  it  knows  the  meaning  of 
words.  Example  sows  the  seeds  of  life's  harvest,  some- 
times before  a  child  can  speak.  That  early  home,  by  the 
still  quiet  influence  of  example,  moulds  the  character  into 
such  a  shape,  that  all  the  after  years  of  probation,  all 
life's  storms,  all  the  jar  and  bustle  of  business  cannot 
change  it.  It  is  like  a  pen  of  iron  and  the  point  of  a 
diamond  graving  on  the  rock.  A  child  knows  well  and 
needs  no  one  to  tell  it,  that  while  words  may  speak  the 
-mind's  knowledge,  actions  declare  the  heart.  What  a 
man  is,  is  far  more  than  what  he  says  : 

A  word  "  doth  never  with  remorse 

Our  minds  so  deeply  move, 
As  when  another's  guiltless  life, 

Our  error  doth  reprove." 

Guilt  and  sin  love  to  quote  the  failings  of  a  good  man, 
a  thousand  times  more  than  even  the  eloquent  eulogies  of 
vice  from  the  lips  of  a  bad  one,  because  more  powerful 
and  effective.  They  never  exult  as  they  do  when  they 
see  that  good  man  stumble.  His  fall,  is  the  fall  of  that 
majestic  statue  of  holy  example  that  has  looked  upon 
them  with  a  withering  frown,  and  when  it  lies  prostrate 
like  the  fallen  Dagon  on  the  threshold  of  his  own  temple, 
mutilated  and  broken,  they  regard  this  misfortune  to  vir- 
tue as  a  personal  triumph  for  themselves.  That  example 
has  been  to  them  what  the  prophet  Micaiah  was  to  Ahab, 
and  if  their  lips  were  bridled,  their  hearts  said  as  plainly 
as  that  wicked  king,  "  I  hate  him,  for  he  prophesieth  not 
good  of  me  but  evil."  Example  is  indeed  a  prophet.  It 
may  even  make  the  devil  stand  abashed  and  feel  "  how 
awful  goodness  is."  Men  who  are  not  satisfied  with 


3 26  LIFE  LE8SON8. 

themselves,  who  feel  that  they  are  doing  wrong,  seek  an 
excuse  for  themselves  in  the  weakness  of  another.  If  a 
good  man  errs,  they  deem  themselves  privileged.  They 
will  wrap  themselves  up  in  the  cloak  of  his  failings,  and 
so  lay  the  flattering  unction  to  their  souls.  They  could 
not  rest  content  with  the  principles  of  a  perverted  moral- 
ity, with  any  verbal  apology  for  their  sin,  however  well 
expressed ;  they  want  an  example  that  they  can  quote. 
Frequently  they  are  only  too  successful  in  their  search. 
Good  men  are  often  weak,  and  blindly  cling  to  an  error 
that  thus  becomes  a  stumbling  block  to  others. 

In  the  early  history  of  the  Temperance  cause  a  man 
who  had  once  been  addicted  to  intemperance,  rose  in  a 
temperance  meeting  and  related  his  experience  in  regard 
to  the  influence  of  temperate  drinkers  of  respectable 
standing  upon  the  habits  of  the  drunkard. 

"Many  a  time,"  said  he,  "have  I  gone  to  Captain 
Johnson's  tavern  and  waited  for  half  an  hour,  or  an  hour, 
for  some  respectable  man  to  come  in  and  go  to  the  bar 
and  call  for  liquor.  After  a  while,  Deacon  Barnes  would 
come  and  call  for  some  spirit  and  water.  Then  I  could 
go  up  to  the  bar  and  do  as  he  did.77  Deacon  Barnes 
hearing  of  this,  asked  him  if  it  was  so.  "  It  is,77  said 
the  man.  "  Well,77  said  the  Deacon,  "  you  shall  hang 
on  me  no  longer.  I  joined  the  Temperance  Society  yes- 
terday.77 "  Did  you  ?77  "  Yes  !77  "  Well,  then  I  will  join 
to-day,  for  I  can  do  without  liquor  as  long  as  Deacon 
Barnes  can.77 

How  vain  to  cherish  the  hope  of  being  able  to  de- 
molish the  arguments  of  the  Sabbath  breaker,  of  the 
theatre  goer,  of  the  intemperate  man,  of  the  votary  of 
fashion,  while  they  are  fortified  by  the  example  of  those 
who  esteem  themselves  good  men,  and  in  some  cases  pos- 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE.  327 

sibly  are !  Well  may  we  ask,  is  it  not  a  divine  wonder, 
a  miracle  in  attestation  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  that 
it  has  maintained  itself  in  the  world  for  eighteen  cen- 
turies, and  made  progress,  when  domestic  traitors  have 
so  often  stabbed  at  its  vitals  with  poisoned  daggers — 
when  they  have  kissed,  with  the  lips  of  profession,  a 
cause  they  betrayed  by  example  ? 

Let  no  man  then  forget  in  this  world  the  preeminent 
power  of  example.  It  is  the  monarch  of  human  influence. 
It  towers  high  above  reason  and  logic,  and  all  the 
power  of  words.  We  may  expose  a  sophistry.  We  may 
counteract  a  bribe.  We  may  live  down  a  slander. 
We  may  show  the  infidel,  that  his  cause  in  the  light 
of  reason  is  utterly  indefensible.  But  example  is  too 
much  for  us.  When  good  men  sin  we  cry  out  instinc- 
tively, "  God  have  mercy  on  us." 

Let  every  wise  man  then  beware  of  evil  example. 
The  warning  is  not  needless ;  the  danger  is  all  around 
us.  Evil  examples  abound.  You  stumble  upon  them 
at  every  step.  There  is  not  a  lie  that  Satan  needs  to 
delude  souls  to  perdition  that  might  not  be  found  in 
the  actual  utterance  of  some  life,  in  the  language  of  some 
action  that  is  to  be  witnessed  every  day  all  around  us. 

But  if  others  do  wrong,  even  by  multitudes,  is  it  any 
reason,  why  you  should  do  so  ?  Does  their  sin  give  you 
authority  to  disobey  God?  What  if  they  are  gay! 
What  if  they  seem  to  prosper !  What  if  wit  and  fashion 
throw  a  spell  of  enchantment  over  their  profanity 
or  their  recklessness  !  Will  their  example  take  away 
your  guilt — will  their  painted  rottenness  compensate  for 
your  casting  in  your  lot  with  them  ?  Will  it  lighten 
that  coming  hour  of  reflection,  when  you  stand  at  the  bar 
of  your  own  conscience  ?  Will  it  sooth  the  anguish  of  a 


328  LIFE  LESSONS 

dying  hour  ?  Will  it  stand  you  in  stead,  when  the  eye  of 
your  great  judge  flashes  its  lightning  through  the  dark 
secrets  of  your  soul  ? 

What  if  many  do  sin ;  what  if  the  majority  do  cast 
off  the  fear  of  God  ;  what  if  it  is  fashionable  to  travel 
the  broad  road ;  will  you  therefore  be  the  suicide  of 
your  soul  ?  Will  fashion  take  away  the  sting  of  the  un- 
dying worm  ?  Will  fashion  put  out  the  flames  of  the 
quenchless  fire  ?  Will  it  be  delightful  to  be  damned  in 
company  ?  What  if  many  would  laugh  at  you  for  being 
odd  ;  is  their  ridicule  worse  than  God's  frown  ?  Is  your 
own  conscience  such  a  torpid  thing,  that  sin  may  trample 
on  it  by  mere  force  of  numbers  ?  Are  your  convictions 
to  be  voted  down  by  majorities  ?  Have  you  enrolled 
yourself  in  that  democracy  of  darkness,  where  numbers 
are  instead  of  God  ? 

There  are  good  men  who  err  and  set  a  bad  example  ; 
there  are  great  m'en  whose  intellectual  eminence  flings  a 
flood  of  splendor  over  the  ruinous  vices  or  the  contempt- 
ible follies  in  which  they  indulge  ;  there  are  men  whose 
names  we  would  utter  with  a  certain  degree  of  reverence 
against  whose  example  we  must  put  you  on  your  guard  ; 
for  the  splendor  of  genius  cannot  atone  for  its  errors, 
and,  if  it  did,  good  sense  should  warn  you  of  the  pre- 
sumption of  supposing  that  because  you  have  the  errors 
you  also  have  the  genius.  Great  men,  and  even  good 
men,  have  been  characterized  by  gross  weakness.  They 
have  shown  themselves  unsafe  guides.  The  frailty  of 
Solomon  is  as  memorable  as  his  wisdom  ;  and  the  same 
pages  that  record  Peter's  devoted  attachment,  tell  us 
how  he  denied  his  Lord.  None  of  us  has  any  right  to 
adopt  a  human  standard.  There  is  an  emphatic  meaning 
in  that  declaration  of  the  apostle,  that  they  "  who  mea- 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE. 


329 


sure  themselves  by  themselves,  and  compare  themselves 
among  themselves,  are  not  wise."  On  the  principle  that 
another's  example  may  sanction  your  course,  there  is  no- 
thing left  which  you  may  not  do.  You  may  quote  ex- 
amples for  everything.  If  you  wish  to  join  in  the  gay 
dance,  you  may  find  some  professedly  Christian  partner  ; 
if  you  wish  to  visit  the  theatre,  some  renegade  Christian 
can  show  you  the  way  ;  if  you  wish  to  share  the  whirl 
of  nonsense  and  vanity,  there  are  Dernas-professors  in  the 
world  to  keep  you  in  countenance  ;  if  you  wish  to  travel 
on  the  Sabbath,  you  may  possibly  find  a  seat  by  the  side 
of  some  one  whose  duty  it  has  been  at  some  time  to  en- 
force the  commandments ;  if  the  love  of  the  world  at- 
tracts you  more  than  the  place  of  prayer,  there  are  cer- 
tainly those  who  can  sympathize  with  you  in  your  tastes. 
There  is  scarcely  anything  you  can  wish  to  do  but  you 
can  find  a  pretext  or  apology  for  it  in  the  disgraceful 
failings  of  such  as  are  presumed  to  be  good  men  ;  but 
shun  the  principle.  There  is  only  one  example  for  you, 
and  that  is  the  Master's.  The  multitude  can  furnish  no 
substitute.  A  multiplicity  of  .criminals  cannot  sanctify 
crime  ;  a  host  of  evil  examples  cannot  change  the  nature 
of  sin.  Bear  this  in  mind  when  you  are  tempted  to  go 
with  a  multitude  to  do  evil.  The  curse  will  not  be  the 
less  because  they  share  it.  You  sin,  and  you  must  bear 
it.  If  you  could  sin  by  proxy,  you  can  not  be  judged 
by  proxy.  You  will  stand  at  the  bar  of  God  to  answer 
for  yourself.  Keep,  then,  one  thing  your  own  ;  part 
with  all  else  if  you  please,  but  be  the  owner  of  an  inde- 
pendent conscience.  Let  not  your  destiny  lie  at  the 
pleasure  of  your  neighbor  or  the  risk  of  his  example. 
You  are  not  called  on  to  gratify  him  to  such  an  extent 
as  to  become  an  outcast  from  God  to  keep  him  company. 


330  LIFE  LESSONS. 

Be,  moreover,  an  example  yourself.  You  know  the 
power  of  example.  If  you  have  five  talents  for  which 
you  are  to  account,  your  example  is  one  of  mem.  Whe- 
ther living  as  you  now  do,  it  ought  to  have  any  influence 
in  the  world,  is  one  question  ;  whether  it  does,  in  fact,  is  • 
another,  or  rather  it  is  no  question  at  all.  It  does  ;  it 
must.  It  is  every  day  arid  every  hour  at  work,  blessing 
or  cursing,  drawing  men  toward  heaven  or  toward  hell — 
in  your  family,  among  your  associates,  in  your  daily  in- 
tercourse, among  all  that  know  you.  It  is  working  where 
you  are  and  where  you  are  not ;  it  is  remembered  by 
others  when  it  has  passed  from  your  own  mind  ;  it  is 
multiplying  itself,  reproducing  through  others  its  own 
image  ;  it  is  preaching  from  the  pulpit  of  your  life  a 
sermon  mightier  than  these  poor  words.  Your  children 
hear  it,  and  act  upon  it ;  your  impenitent  friends  and 
associates  are  confirmed  in  their  sin  or  alarmed  by  it. 
Many  an  eye  looks  to  you  to  know  what  you  will  do  and 
how  you  will  live,  and  the  current  of  your  life  determines 
that  of  others. 

If  you  could  once  see  the  power  of  your  example  in  its 
bearing  on  the  destiny  of  beings  around  you  for  time  and 
for  eternity,  words  would  not  be  needed.  You  would 
be  startled  at  yourself ;  you  would  not  dare  one  hour 
longer  to  live  in  such  a  way  as  to  counteract  the  truths 
of  the  Bible  in  their  power  on  others'  minds.  Is  there 
not  something  unspeakably  terrible  in  the  thought  of  hav- 
ing come  into  the  world  to  undo  the  work  for  which 
Christ  left  heaven  and  sojourned  among  men  ?  To  throw 
your  life  into  the  opposing  scale  ;  to  draw  men  away 
from  God,  or  hold  them  with  you  in  your  sin — it  must  be 
a  strange  stupidity  that  can  leave  you  unconcerned  in 
such  circumstances  as  these !  The  most  trifling  acts  of 


THE  POWER  OF  EXAMPLE. 


331 


yours  may  set  an  example  that  may  seal  the  ruin  of  some 
soul.  The  Apostle  Paul  studied  to  be  an  example  ;  and 
it  was  a  noble  purpose  in  him  that  led  him  to  declare — • 
"  If  meat  make  my  brother  to  offend,  I  will  not  eat  meat 
or  drink  wine  while  the  world  standeth,  lest  I  make  my 
brother  to  offend." 

What  a  blessed  treasure  for  you  would  be  that  of  holy 
example  ;  if  every  one  that  saw  and  knew  you  could  say, 
"  There  is  a  true  Christian  ;"  how  in  the  obscurest  posi- 
tion you  would  be  preaching  to  the  hearts  of  others,  lead- 
ing them  to  your  Saviour  and  making  Him  theirs  !  Your 
journey  through  the  world  would  be  a  path  of  light,  be- 
dewed at  every  step  with  tears  of  grateful  joy  from  the 
eyes  of  those  that  rose  up  to  call  you  blessed !  The 
treasure  of  a  useful  life  would  be  stored  up  for  you  in 
heaven,  and  on  your  track  to  the  spirit-world  would  fol- 
low those  whom  your  example  had  attracted,  and  who 
would  join  you  in  the  music  of  the  new  song. 

But  if  yours  should  prove  to  be  an  evil  example,  how 
fearful  the  reverse ! 

Well  might  the  poet  Middleton  say — 

"  If  men  of  good  lives, 

Who,  by  their  virtuous  actions,  stir  up  others 
To  noble  and  religious  imitation, 
Receive  the  greater  glory  after  death, 
As  sin  must  needs  confess  ;  what  may  they  feel 
In  height  of  torments  and  in  weight  of  vengeance — 
Not  only  they  themselves  not  doing  well, 
But  set  a  light  up  to  show  men  to  hell  ?" 


XXXXI. 

WEALTH  :  ITS  SOUECE,  POWER,  DANGERS 
AND  DUTIES. 

"  It  is  required  in  stewards  that  man  be  found  faithful." — 1  Cor.  iv.  2. 

WEALTH,  in  its  original  signification,  is  any 
thing  that  contributes  to  the  iveal  or  welfare  of 
an  individual  or  a  community.  In  the  latter  case,  it  is 
the  commonwealth,  so  called.  Individual  or  personal 
wealth  is  whatever  can  be  made  conducive  to  the  weal 
of  the  individual ;  and  in  its  largest  signification,  em- 
braces physical  and  mental  qualities,  so  that  a  man  who  is 
poor  in  all  else  may  be  rich  in  mental  acquirements,  in 
powers  of  thought,  in  the  means  of  acquiring  and  exer- 
cising influence.  But  in  its  usual  signification,  wealth  is 
synonymous  with  property,  and  means  the  material  pos- 
sessions that  a  man  calls  his  own,  that  is,  what  he 
has  received  or  acquired,  and  what  the  law  secures 
to  him  the  right  to  use  and  employ.  It  may  con- 
sist in  money,  or  houses,  or  lands,  or  manufactories — • 
fruits  of  industry,  the  profits  of  trade,  labor,  or  genius. 
The  sources  of  wealth  are  various.  Sometimes  it  is  ac- 
quired by  inheritance,  sometimes  by  slow  and  patient  in- 
dustry, sometimes  by  speculation,  sometimes  by  gift  or 
donation,  but  in  all  cases  through  the  constitution  of 
things  ordained  by  God's  providence.  There  could  be 

(332) 


WEALTH.  333 

no  such  thing  as  wealth,  but  that  God  has  created  its  orig- 
inal material,  and  conferred  on  man  the  power  to  give  it 
shape.  In  making  the  world,  the  Great  Creator  fash- 
ioned it  so  as  to  afford  the  means  of  industry  and  enter- 
prise. It  is  not  merely  a  place  where  man  can  idly  set 
his  foot  and  stay  out  his  appointed  time. 

The  materials  of  wealth  everywhere  surround  us.  The 
genial  soil,  waiting  for  the  seed,  gives  promise  to  in- 
dustry of  an  abundant  harvest.  The  broad  prairie  in- 
vites the  hand  of  cultivation.  The  trees  of  the  forest 
need  but  skillful  toil  to  take  the  shape  of  timber,  and  be 
fashioned  into  commodious  and  beautiful  dwellings.  The 
coal  lies  buried  in  the  earth,  waiting  only  for  the  hand 
of  labor  to  bring  it  forth  and  give  it  value.  The  iron  in 
the  mine  is  worthless  there,  but  invites  the  patience  of 
industry  to  turn  it  into  wealth.  Gold  is  buried  in  the 
rocks,  or  mingled  with  the  river's  sands,  and  must  be 
sought  out  and  gathered,  to  become  the  representative  of 
value.  And  thus  all  the  materials  of  wealth,  and  the 
strength  and  skill  also,  by  which  man  is  able  to  turn 
them  into  wealth,  are  conferred  by  God. 

The  earth  is  his,  from  which  we  draw  our  sustenance. 
The  ocean  is  his,  that  we  whiten  with  the  sails  of  com- 
merce. The  rivers  are  his,  that  float  our  steam  palaces, 
and  our  ships  laden  with  produce.  The  mine  is  his,  from 
which  we  draw  the  materials  of  our  industry  or  comfort. 
Our  strength  to  labor,  our  powers  of  invention  to  devise 
the  means  and  implements  of  labor,  the  constitution  of 
mind  and  body,  by  which  we  can  turn  every  thing  to  its 
uses,  and  find  enjoyment  in  them — all  are  His.  He 
opened  the  fountains,  and  planted  the  forests,  and  reared 
the  mountains,  and  gave  the  valley  its  rich  and  fertile 
soil.  His  are  the  flowers  of  the  field  and  the  cattle  on  a 


334 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


thousand  hills.  Enterprise  cannot  lay  its  hand  upon  a  sin- 
gle object,  that  does  not  declare  God  to  be  its  proprietor. 

The  primary  source  of  wealth,  therefore,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  Great  Giver,  and  all  the  powers  of  mind  and  body, 
by  which  the  original  elements  are  transmuted  into  shape, 
come  from  the  same  source.  The  earth,  with  all  its  stores 
of  hidden  material,  is  the  gift  of  God  to  the  race.  No  one 
more  than  another  can  claim  its  unoccupied  wastes,  ex- 
cept as  he  improves  them  for  the  supply  of  his  own  indi- 
vidual wants.  No  man  has  an  exclusive  title  deed  from 
the  Almighty.  It  is  on  the  ground,  therefore,  of  indefi- 
nite lease,  and  that  not  exclusive,  that  enterprise  goes 
forth  to  claim  and  take  possession  of  the  waste  and  un- 
cultivated portions  of  the  earth.  Here  is  the  origin  of 
wealth,  and  then,  with  the  powers  that  God  has  given, 
man  cultivates  it  and  gives  it  a  manifold  value.  The 
plowed  land  is  worth  more  than  the  unplowed,  the 
harvest  field  more  than  the  unsown.  Labor  and  skill 
give  increased  value  to  the  material.  The  ore  is  purified 
in  the  furnace ;  the  cotton  from  the  field,  and  the  wool 
from  the  fleece  of  the  sheep,  are  woven  into  cloth.  The 
forest  is  cut  down  and  furnishes  timber.  The  fruits  and 
productions  of  one  climate  transferred  to  another  meet 
a  demand  that  increases  their  value.  Commerce,  trans- 
ferring her  materials  from  place  to  place,  and  distribut- 
ing them  to  meet  the  wants  of  man,  adds  to  their  value, 
and  thus  wealth  is  produced. 

The  extent  to  which  any  man  can  command  the  produc- 
tions of  skill  and  industry  is  the  measure  of  his  wealth. 
Yet,  usually,  it  is  bestowed  on  the  condition  of  indi- 
vidual effort.  When  a  man  attains  it  in  any  other  way,  it 
is  by  some  exception  to  the  general  rule  which  God  has  laid 
down.  The  hereditary  transmission  of  property  is  not 


WEALTH.  335 

the  legitimate  way  of  acquiring  it.  By  mental  or  bodily 
effort,  by  "  the  sweat  of  the  brow/7  in  the  expressive  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  it  is  properly  to  be  secured.  When 
this  law  is  complied  with,  wealth  is  something  more  than 
a  pile  of  dust,  a  mere  mass  of  matter,  that  may  be 
conveyed  by  title  deeds  and  bequests.  It  is  the  in- 
dex of  individual  energy  and  effort,  the  sign — not  always 
infallible,  it  is  true,  from  incidental  losses  or  disadvan- 
tages, but  yet  the  general  sign — of  a  man's  ability  and  en- 
terprise. If  honestly  and  fairly  acquired,  it  is  the  noble 
testimonial  of  industry — the  measure,  according  to  its 
extent,  of  a  man's  real  capacity.  It  is  true  that  this 
wealth  may  in  some  cases  be  meanly  hoarded  up,  so  that 
the  very  accumulation  of  it  is  a  robbery,  denying  to  it  the 
use  by  which  it  might  be  multiplied  ;  but  yet,  when  fairly 
acquired  and  fairly  employed  for  its  legitimate  uses,  it  is 
a  sort  of  index  of  the  man. 

The  voice  of  duty,  therefore,  while  it  requires  us  to  re- 
cognize the  source  of  our  wealth,  and  all  our  titles  to  it 
in  God,  bids  us,  in  the  right  use  of  our  faculties,  and  with 
true  views  as  to  the  value  of  wealth,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  is  to  be  employed,  make  all  we  can — not,  how- 
ever, overtasking  our  powers,  or  interfering  with  the  just 
claims  of  body  and  soul  upon  our  time  and  attention. 
Industry  is  a  Christian  duty,  and  vigor  is  a  divine  gift,  a 
talent  God  has  given  to  be  employed.  The  faithful 
use  of  our  powers  in  their  appropriate  sphere,  multiply- 
ing the  conveniences  and  comforts  of  life  to  ourselves 
and  others,  giving  us  the  means  of  influence  and  doing 
good,  has  the  highest  sanction  of  the  Word  of  God. 
With  right  views  and  aims,  we  can  be  as  truly  serving 
God  and  working  out  the  end  of  our  probation  in  the 
field  or  in  the  workshop  as  when  we  are  found  in  the 


336  LIFE  LE8SON8. 

closet  or  prayer-meeting,  giving  each,  however,  its  ap- 
propriate place. 

Except  as  the  love  of  selfish  gain  interferes,  we  may 
work  for  God  in  seeking  to  increase  the  profits  of  our 
business  and  multiplying  our  means  to  bless  the  world. 
Let  no  man  say  that  religion  will  spoil  a  business-man, 
even  if  it  does  forbid  by  solemn  ordinance  all  unjust 
gain,  the  lie,  or  cheat.  It  bids  us  be  industrious.  "  JSTot 
slothful  in  business,  fervent  in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord/7 — • 
such  is  the  Christian's  motto.  Make  all  the  money  you 
can,  consistent  with  honesty  and  the  higher  interests  of 
yourself  and  your  fellow-man.  It  is  only  the  right  use 
of  your  talent  which  enables  you  to  become  more  exten- 
sively and  widely  useful. 

The  power  of  wealth  for  good  or  evil  has  passed  into 
a  proverb.  The  maxims  of  the  world  confess  it.  One 
of  our  most  eminent  poets  has  said, 

"Plate  sin  in  gold  and  justice's  dart  falls  hurtless." 

"  Why,  this  will  buy  your  priests  and  servants  from  your  sides, 

Pluck  stout  men's  pillows  from  below  their  heads, 

Will  knit  and  break  religions,  bless  the  accursed ; 

Make  the  hoar  leprosy  adored  ;  place  slaves, 

And  give  them  title,  knee  and  approbation 

With  Senators  on  the  bench." 

And  another  has  added  : 

"Gold  is  the  strength,  the  sinews  of  the  world; 
The  health,  the  soul,  the  beauty  most  divine  ; 
A  mask  of  gold  hides  all  deformities." 

But  to  curse  gold  for  the  evil  it  does,  is  like  cursing  the 
brickbat  instead  of  the  man  that  throws  it.  The  Bible 
does  not  say  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  but  the  love  of 


WEALTH. 


337 


it.  God  himself  created  the  elements  of  wealth  and  they 
were  the  main  part  of  that  great  work  of  his  which  he 
surveyed  when  it  was  complete,  and  which  he  pronounced 
good.  Wealth  is  the  implement  or  result  of  industry — 
an  instrument  of  influence  that  has  in  itself  no  moral 
character,  and  can  have  none  apart  from  the  use  to  which 
it  is  applied.  Without  therefore  either  praising  or  cursing 
it,  we  speak  of  it  simply  as  a  thing  which  the  good  or 
evil  passions  of  men  can  employ  to  produce  any  desired 
result.  And  as  thus  apprehended,  its  power  is  vast ;  can 
scarcely  be  overrated.  It  furnishes  the  capital  of  enter- 
prise. It  is  the  talent  which  industry  can  put  out  to 
usury  and  multiply  manifold.  In  conjunction  with  human 
energy,  its  natural  ally,  it  can  accomplish  wonders.  It 
carries  forward  all  the  processes  of  our  complicated  civil- 
ization. It  rears  the  manufactory,  and  feeds  its  spin- 
dles, and  turns  its  wheels.  It  provides  and  sustains  the 
laboratory  of  art.  It  builds  the  school-house,  the  college, 
the  church.  It  covers  our  land  with  railroads  and  ca- 
nals, developing  new  wealth  along  their  track.  It  tun- 
nels the  mountain,  and  tames  the  wilderness,  and  opens 
the  forest.  It  wakes  the  unbroken  solitude  with  the 
hum  of  busy  industry,  and  calls  up  cities  and  villages  on 
the  banks  of  our  rivers,  and  along  the  shores  of  our  lakes. 
It  launches  the  vessel  it  has  built,  and  unfurls  the  sail  of 
commerce,  and  explores  the  coasts  of  distant  lands.  It 
turns  the  world  into  a  great  workhouse  of  industry,  a 
mammoth  Crystal  Palace,  rich  with  the  products  of  every 
soil  and  the  treasures  of  every  clime.  Some  few  rills  of 
its  great  river,  overflowing  its  banks,  run  into  the  channels 
of  benevolence,  and  cheer  the  arid  waste  of  human  misery, 
sprinkling  the  broad  desert  with  green  oases,  oi1  turning  the 
wheels  of  hallowed  enterprise,  and  working  the  machinery 
15 


3  3  8  LIFE  LESSONS. 

that  floods  the  world  with  tracts  and  Bibles.  And  beside 
this,  what  motives  it  presents,  tempting  to  the  highest 
achievements  of  effort  and  of  daring.  The  hope  of  it 
starts  indolence  from  repose,  and  rouses  to  effort.  Its 
power  is  felt  in  the  importer's  counting-room,  and  in  the 
humblest  hamlet  of  the  land.  It  sends  out  the  fleet  ships 
on  their  perilous  voyage  ;  it  explores  unknown  routes 
marked  by  hazard  and  danger,  and  at  the  same  time  car- 
ries on  the  whole  mechanism  of  common  daily  industry. 
To  gain  it,  labor  toils,  art  invents,  genius  soars,  study 
gathers  up  her  intellectual  treasures.  Lured  by  this  bait, 
cupidity  breaks  over  the  restraints  of  honesty  and  the 
laws  of  God  ;  avarice  hoards  the  memorials  of  its  own 
cursed  selfishness  ;  desperation  no  longer  pauses  on  the 
brink  of  crime,  but  dashes  over  the  gulf.  Public  justice 
is  corrupted,  and  becomes  rather  public  wrong  ;  a 
bribe  blinds  the  eye  and  perverts  the  judgment ;  a  bribe 
changes  the  channel  and  current  of  legislation.  In  one 
form  or  another,  wealth  is  interfering  with  the  whole 
course  and  order  of  society.  It  erects  a  charitable  in- 
stitution, or  sets  up  a  grogshop.  It  blesses  a  poor  fam- 
ily with  needed  comforts,  or  spurs  on  extortion  to  wring 
away  their  last  crust.  It  gives  an  impulse  to  benevolent 
enterprise,  or  becomes  the  tool  of  conspirators  and  vil- 
lains. The  robber  on  the  highway  dares  death  for  it. 
The  false  swearer  perjures  himself  to  attain  it.  The  spec- 
ulator risks  all  that  he  has,  that  he  may  attain  more. 

And  what  power  it  gives  to  individual  influence  and 
opinion !  The  fashion  that  wealth  adopts  and  sanctions 
has  immediate  and  unquestioned  currency.  Unjust  as  it 
may  seem,  society,  in  its  present  state  of  human  apostacy 
is  so  constituted  that  gold  is  often  mightier  than  reason. 
It  gives  a  sort  of  authoritative  imprimatur  to  a  current 


WEALTH. 


339 


notion.  It  only  needs  to  be  known  that  wealth  adopts 
it  to  supply  its  lack  of  sense,  or  cover  up  its  absurdity. 
And  this  power  may  be  used  for  good  as  well  as  for  evil. 
It  may  be  employed  on  the  side  of  truth,  and  to  wipe  off 
the  shame  that  the  world  would  cast  on  the  principles  of 
a  pure  morality,  or  of  non-conformity  to  its  false  stand- 
ards. Wealth  furnishes  a  pedestal,  on  which  the  statue 
of  a  good  example,  and  of  just  principles  may  be  set  up 
and  made  nobly  conspicuous  or  even  impressive.  In  fact, 
its  power  is  such  through  society  and  the  world,  that  it 
can  scarcely  be  overrated. 

But  with  the  power  are  connected  also  the  dangers  and 
responsibilities  of  wealth.  These  are  classed  together,  be- 
cause the  dangers  flow  from  a  neglect  of  responsibility ;  use 
this  powerful  talent  or  means  of  influence  aright,  and  the 
dangers  are  few  ;  neglect  it,  and  they  are  vast  and  mani- 
fold. The  very  dangers,  therefore,  enforce  the  conclu- 
sion drawn  from  a  consideration  of  the  power  and  influ- 
ence of  wealth — a  power  and  influence  which  of  them- 
selves imply  responsibility. 

The  dangers  of  wealth  flow  mainly  from  those  views 
of  it  which  allow  of  its  abuse.  Seek  it  for  its  own  sake, 
and  it  is  a  curse.  The  love  of  money  then  appears,  as  it 
is,  the  root  of  all  evil.  It  lures  a  man  to  danger  and  to 
crime.  Seek  wealth  as  a  means  of  doing  good,  that  you 
may  serve  God  and  bless  the  world  with  it,  and  there  is 
little  temptation  to  transgress  in  its  pursuit  the  rules  of 
strict  honesty  and  virtue.  Seek  it  as  a  means  of  selfish 
gratification,  as  a  source  of  luxury,  or  a  ground  of  pride, 
and  it  is  a  snare.  You  are  tempted  to  disregard  the 
obstacles  which  justice  and  morality  throw  in  the  way 
of  its  pursuit.  Then  it  leads  to  falsehood,  to  dishonesty, 
to  crime.  It  tempts  you  to  forget  a  higher  object  in  one 


34° 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


lower  and  incidental.  It  exalts  one  that  should  always 
be  kept  secondary  to  the  importance  of  a  primary.  It 
destroys  the  natural  and  just  relations  which  it  should 
ever  be  made  to  sustain  to  other  objects.  A  man  whose 
main  and  ruling  purpose  is  to  make  money,  degrades 
himself  from  a  man  to  a  thing.  So  far  as  he  can,  he  makes 
a  machine  of  himself,  the  whole  scope  of  which  is  no 
higher  than  that  of  the  die  of  the  mint.  He  rises  just  to 
the  dignity  of  a  gold  washer  or  sieve,  or  rather  sinks  to 
that  zero  of  the  moral  thermometer.  The  tendency  of 
his  course  is  just  to  place  him  on  a  level  with  the  tools 
he  uses,  or  the  engine  that  drives  his  machinery.  He  is 
merely  the  calculating,  ciphering,  directing  furniture  of 
his  establishment.  He  might  almost  as  well  give  up  all 
claims  and  titles  to  his  humanity.  He  would  no  more  be 
missed,  so  far  as  moral  worth  is  concerned,  in  the  com- 
munity, than  his  workshop  or  his  engines.  The  love  of 
money,  creeping  into  the  heart,  eats  out  with  poisonous 
tooth  all  the  human  that  is  there. 

But  we  should  not  overlook  the  result  of  the  tempta- 
tions to  crime  to  which  the  love  of  money  renders  one 
so  susceptible.  As  this  passion  prevails,  it  invites  to  all 
various  forms  of  injustice  and  extortion.  A  man  absorbed 
in  prospects  of  gain,  ventures  on  doubtful  methods, 
indulges  in  questionable  practices.  He  is  entangled, 
snared,  involved  in  the  meshes  of  his  own  dishonest 
schemes,  and  becomes  their  victim.  He  lives  a  knave, 
and  dies  a  fool,  and  is  adjudged  accursed. 

There  are  dangers,  too,  arising  also  from  the  possession 
of  wealth.  If  suddenly  acquired,  it  has  a  strange  ten- 
dency to  make  a  man's  head  dizzy,  or  his  neck  stiff,  or 
his  heart  cold  and  hard.  Sometimes  he  does  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  and  so  becomes  a  spendthrift  and 


WEALTH. 


341 


makes  it  a  means  of  expediting  the  catastrophe  of  a 
career  of  luxury  and  sin. 

But  however  acquired,  if  it  is  not  held  and  kept  as  a 
solemn  trust  in  stewardship  for  God,  it  tends  to  attract 
the  heart,  and  hold  it  fast  to  itself.  It  narrows  the  range 
of  sympathy  ;  it  tempts  one  to  treat  his  poorer  neighbor 
with  scorn  and  neglect.  It  leads  him  to  exalt  pride 
above  humanity.  He  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  whence 
his  affluence  came,  who  gave  it,  and  who  continues  it,  and 
who  can  make  it  worthless  in  a  moment.  He  is  in  dan- 
ger of  forgetting  God  in  the  idolatry  of  his  wealth ;  of 
counting  himself,  with  the  resources  at  his  command,  in- 
dependent of  the  great  Giver ;  of  living  to  enjoy  his 
money  rather  than  employ  it  for  God.  There  is  danger 
of  its  becoming  his  greatest  curse — 'its  very  touch  infect- 
ing his  soul  with  a  kind  of  leprosy — his  grasp  upon  it 
leading  him  to  neglect  to  seize  upon  what  is  infinitely 
more  important.  There  is  danger  of  his  regarding  it  as 
his  own,  exclusive  of  the  claims  of  God,  and  employing 
it  as  an  instrument  of  luxury  and  pride,  building  and 
furnishing  himself  a  heaven  with  it  here,  to  the  neglect 
of  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

In  some  cases  wealth  leads  to  dissipation.  If  the 
father  of  the  household  escapes,  his  children  often  in- 
herit the  curse.  They  grow  up  with  the  idea  that  they 
were  not  born  to  work  and  earn  their  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brow.  Every  wish  must  be  gratified. 
Pride  and  fashion  have  all  their  thoughts.  They  are 
indulged  with  all  that  wealth  can  purchase,  and  before 
they  are  men  or  women  they  have  acquired  habits  of 
expenditure  that  utterly  unfit  them  to  take  care  of 
themselves.  You  see  them  incarnations  of  vanity,  worth- 
less for  any  useful  service — their  minds  perhaps  uncul- 


342 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


tured,  their  hearts  perverted,  their  views  of  life  ruin- 
ously absurd.  The  chances  of  the  future  are  decidedly 
against  them.  You  can  almost  see  the  inscription,  "  a 
human  wreck,"  written  upon  their  forehead  now.  Their 
place  of  destination  is  already  dimly  visible  amid  the 
foam-crested  breakers  that  line  the  shores  of  life. 

All  these  dangers,  and  others  that  might  be  cited,  give 
double  force  to  the  lessons  of  responsibility  in  the  pursuit 
and  use  of  wealth.  It  is  to  be  sought  and  employed  as  a 
talent  from  God  for  which  we  are  solemnly  accountable. 
The  language  of  Scripture  on  this  subject  is  fearfully 
impressive.  We  have  already  seen — in  considering  the 
source  of  wealth — that  it  comes  from  God.  We  improve 
it  and  add  to  its  value,  just  as  we  do  to  the  powers  of 
the  mind,  by  cultivation.  Our  wealth  is  no  more  ours  in 
the  absolute  sense,  than  the  faculties  of  the  mind  are. 
God  has  a  property  in  both  which  he  has  not  relin- 
quished, which  he  cannot  relinquish,  and  for  which  he 
will  call  us  to  account. 

How  absurd  would  the  pretensions  of  that  man  seem, 
who  should  claim  that  his  tongue  was  his  own,  and  he 
might  speak  what  he  chose  ;  that  his  pen  was  his  own, 
and  he  might  write  what  he  chose ;  that  his  faculties 
were  his  own,  and  he  might  employ  them  as  be  chose ! 
The  assumption  would  be  absurd.  It  would  open  the 
door  to  universal  license.  There  is  a  higher  law  that 
regulates  all  these  things.  What  an  ineffaceable  stamp 
of  reprobation  all  our  better  feelings  would  set  upon  that 
man  who  should  employ  great  and  splendid  abilities  to 
build  up  some  scheme  of  selfish  aggrandizement,  using 
his  superior  talent  to  malign  virtue,  or  gild  vice,  or  se- 
duce the  inexperienced  into  the  paths  of  sin !  We  should 
feel  that  no  language  could  furnish  a  strain  of  condem- 


WEALTH. 


343 


nation  severe  enough  to  visit  his  fault.  And  yet,  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  its  influence,  wealth  is  subject  to 
the  same  law  of  accountability.  Just  so  far  as  it  sanc- 
tions unworthy  practices,  or  says  by  act  or  show  that 
worldly  gratification  is  the  chief  thing,  or  lays  its  tribute 
on  the  altar  of  luxury  and  pride,  just  so  far  it  "  plates 
sin  with  gold,"  and  paints  a  demon  as  an  angel. 

Even  if  we  are  so  disposed,  we  cannot  stop  short  of 
the  great  Scripture  rule  of  obligation  reaching  to  the 
use  of  every  thing  that  can  extend  or  multiply  our  influ- 
ence. Our  wealth,  like  our  power  of  speech,  is  a  sacred 
deposit,  and  if  for  every  idle  word  that  men  speak  they 
shall  give  account  in  the  day  of  judgment — so  also  for 
every  dollar,  for  every  cent  that  they  misspend  or  employ 
for  an  unhallowed  purpose.  The  wealth  that  is  wasted 
in  extravagant  display  is  a  talent  buried  in  the  earth,  or 
worse  than  this — given  over  to  the  devil.  The  gorgeous- 
ness  of  dress  that  feeds  your  pride,  is  just  so  much  of  the 
means  God  lent  you  to  see  how  you  would  use  them  for 
Him,  flung  down  to  those  passions  that  feed  upon  them 
now,  but  at  last  will  feed  upon  you. 

The  great  question  for  us  to  ask  in  the  use  of  our 
means,  is  not,  How  can  I  gratify  myself  in  the  expendi- 
ture ;  but,  How  can  I  best  employ  them  in  serving  God  ? 
They  are  His — entrusted  for  a  while  to  me — but  soon  to 
be  called  back.  He  tells  me,  as  a  steward  for  Him,  to  lay 
out  the  portion  committed  to  me  in  the  way  in  which  it 
will  do  the  most  good,  in  which  it  will  glorify  Him 
most.  All  selfish  considerations  disappear  at  once.  I 
am  to  act  as  God's  hand,  paying  out  for  Him,  investing 
for  Him,  receiving  for  Him,  and  using  for  myself  just 
what  will  best  fit  me  to  serve  Him. 

I  need  not  say  that  this  is  a  high  standard,  but  to  your 


344 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


conscience  I  leave  it,  whether  it  be  not  the  true  one. 
With  the  Bible  before  me,  I  can  discover  no  other.  With 
eternity  in  view,  I  think  it  would  be  folly  supreme  to 
adopt  any  other.  You  are  to  consider,  and  by  solemn 
vow  you  are  bound  to  consider,  how  you  may  contribute 
to  carry  out  the  scheme  of  Christ  in  regard  to  a  dying 
world,  and  all  the  means  of  influence  at  your  command 
are  called  into  requisition.  Bought  yourself  at  a  price 
which  no  gold  or  silver  can  be  employed  to  compute,  you 
owe  all  that  you  are  as  a  ransomed  captive,  and  all  that 
you  hope  to  be  as  one  of  the  redeemed  in  glory,  to  that 
love  that  was  manifested  in  the  cross  of  Christ.  The 
claims  of  God,  as  Creator  and  Preserver,  are,  as  it  were, 
reinforced  by  the  demands  of  atoning  blood,  and  their 
justice  has  been  acknowledged  by  you  before  the  world, 
with  God,  angels,  and  men  as  your  witnesses.  Whatever 
you  can  do  to  promote  the  most  sacred  of  all  causes,  to 
limit  the  empire  of  sin,  to  spread  the  Gospel  of  the  Son 
of  God,  to  dry  the  tears  of  the  mourner,  to  scatter  happi- 
ness around  your  path,  or  send  it  like  the  sunlight  to  the 
humblest  home  and  the  most  benighted  heart,  to  bring 
the  dying  to  the  fountain  of  life  and  draw  them  on  with 
you  to  heaven,  all  this  you  are  bound  to  do,  counting  it  a 
privilege  as  well  as  a  solemn  duty.  And  by  all  the  means 
which  God  has  entrusted  to  your  charge,  you  are  bound 
to  do  it.  If  God  has  given  you  wealth,  that  is  a  talent. 
You  may  by  a  hallowed  purpose  make  it  a  powerful  in- 
strument of  good.  It  may  speak  for  you,  toil  for  you,  be 
a  missionary  for  you,  or  rather  for  Christ.  It  may  teach 
the  ignorant,  reform  the  degraded,  sustain  the  claims  of 
Christian  charity,  give  a  new  impulse  to  benevolent  en- 
terprise, and  raise  up  multitudes  who  shall  bless  God 
through  you. 


WEALTH. 


345 


Suppose  for  a  moment,  that  with  abundant  means  at 
your  command,  you  resolve  to  use  them  as  it  seems  to 
you  Christ  would  have  them  used — as  you  would  choose 
to  use  them  if  Christ  was  walking  by  your  side,  and  day 
by  day  sitting  down  with  you  at  table,  or  conversing 
with  you  by  the  way !  Suppose  your  highest  ambition — 
as  strong  and  earnest  as  that  of  the  aspirant  to  wealth 
and  fortune — was  just  to  accomplish  the  most  good  pos- 
sible with  the  means  at  your  command :  the  largest  re- 
sults of  glory  to  God,  and  beneficence  to  man !  Is  that 
an  incredible  supposition?  Why  should  it  be  so  regarded? 
Is  it  fanatic  or  absurd  to  live  by  a  rule  which  you  ac- 
knowledge obligatory  ?  Be  wise  and  do  it. 

Then,  though  you  live  in  a  world  that  sin  has  cursed, 
there  will  bloom  all  around  your  path  an  Eden  only  less 
lovely  than  our  lost  inheritance.  Its  fragrance  will  sur- 
round you  with  the  breath  of  heaven,  and  when  called 
home  at  last,  of  you  it  may  be  said,  "  Blessed  are  the  dead 
that  die  in  the  Lord  ;  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest 
from  their  labors,  and  their  works  do  follow  them.7' 


XXXVII. 

POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION  ; 

OB, 

ON    PITCHING    ONE'S    TENT    TOWARD    SODOM. 

"  And  Lot  pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom." — GEN.  xiii.  12. 

THE  power  of  evil  association  is  well  illustrated  by 
a  short  chapter  in  the  history  of  Lot.  We  are 
told  that  "  he  pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom."  These 
words  possess  great  significance,  and  excite  deep  interest 
when  taken  in  connection  with  Lot's  subsequent  experi- 
ence. Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  in  company  with 
Abraham  his  uncle.  They  had  dwelt  together,  and 
herded  their  flocks  in  the  same  pastures.  But  a  strife 
arose  between  their  herdsmen,  and  in  order  to  avoid  all 
occasion  for  it  in  future,  they  separated.  A  braham  gave 
Lot  his  choice  of  location,  from  the  whole  land  before 
him,  saying,  "  if  thou  will  take  the  left  hand,  then  I  will 
go  to  the  right ;  or  if  thou  depart  to  the  right  hand,  then 
I  will  go  to  the  left."  The  result  was  as  is  stated,  and 
this  in  spite  of  the  fact  put  on  record  with  it,  that  "  the 
men  of  Sodom  were  wicked  and  sinners  before  the  Lord 
exceedingly.77  Prom  this  hour  the  life  of  Lot  becomes 
sadly  clouded  with  disaster  and  gloom.  The  storm  did 
not,  indeed,  come  down  at  once,  but  an  observant  eye 

(346) 


POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION. 


347 


might  have  seen  its  threatening  masses  piled  up  and 
darkening  in  the  distance,  and  casting  their  sombre 
shadow  over  all  his  prosperity.  The  rich  and  well- 
watered  pastures,  the  flourishing  condition  of  his  flocks 
and  herds,  the  respect  which  his  growing  wealth  and 
prosperity  secured  for  him  at  present,  might  lead  him^ 
to  forget  or  neglect  the  question  of  a  holy  life,  and  the 
favor  of  God  might  even  dazzle  him  blind  to  the  coining 
danger ;  but  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  the  vengeance 
he  challenged  was  hastening,  and,  though  delayed,  it 
was  sure  to  come.  It  overtook  him  in  the  very  scenes 
,of  his  prosperity,  and  from  its  fiery  deluge  he  scarcely 
escaped,  thenceforth  a  poor,  bereaved,  desolate,  old  man, 
the  victim,  till  he  dies,  of  the  social  corruption  with 
which  his  family  had  become  contaminated  in  Sodom. 

This  brief  history  throws  around  the  language,  "  he 
pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom/7  a  meaning  of  fearful  and 
momentous  interest.  Here  was  that  passage  in  his  life 
which  was  ominous  of  all  his  future  disaster  ;  which  was, 
in  fact,  its  procuring  cause. 

But  the  history  of  Lot  has  the  force  of  parable.  To 
many  a  man  it  has  all  the  significance  of  a  personal  appli- 
cation. It  reads  like  the  parable  of  the  Prophet  Nathan 
to  the  guilty  King  of  Israel,  which  closed  with  that  home- 
thrust,  "  Thou  art  the  man."  Of  how  many  may  the 
recording  angel  be  even  now  writing  that  chapter  in 
their  history,  which  may  be  summed  up  in  the  short  para- 
graph, "  he  pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom.77 

Consider,  first,  the  meaning  of  the  words.  In  the 
case  of  Lot  they  had  a  meaning  of  great  weight,  a 
meaning  that  is  not  comprehended  merely  by  the  sight 
of  moving  tents  and  a  change  of  location.  The  men  that 
Lot  employed  to  move  his  cords,  and  stakes,  and  sheep- 


348  LIFE  LESSONS. 

skin  tent-cloths,  had,  perhaps,  no  conception  of  what  it 
meant  to  "pitch  the  tent  toward  Sodom,"  as  they  were 
ordered  to  do.  They  saw  nothing  in  it  but  the  securing 
a  more  advantageous  locality,  a  more  beautiful  country,  a 
richer  pasturage,  and  fatter  flocks.  Perhaps  Lot  saw 
nothing  more.  It  may  be  that  increased  ease  and  pros- 
perity and  worldly  comfort  blinded  him  to  every  other 
result.  He  may  have  looked  on  the  Sodom  neighborhood 
as  something  of  a  drawback  on  his  location,  and  yet 
have  been  inclined  to  think  that,  perhaps,  after  all,  those 
neighbors  were  a  well-meaning  people,  only  somewhat 
too  indulgent  in  their  gaiety  ;  a  little  too  extravagant  in- 
dancing  and  night  revels,  balls,  and  routs.  He  might 
have  considered  these  as  a  very  pardonable  result  of 
their  superfluous  wealth — that  carving  and  gilding  of 
social  intercourse  which  bespeak  the  perfection  of  gentil- 
ity, and  are  almost  necessary  to  take  off  that  roughness 
and  boorishness  of  manner  which,  in  some  circles,  are 
"  the  unpardonable  sin."  And  even  if  in  some  cases  these 
things  were  carried  too  far,  what  harm  could  it  do  him, 
a  man  of  fixed  and  religious  principle,  far  above  the 
reach  of  any  such  perverting  influence ;  and  as  to  his 
family,  he  could  see  that  they  were  kept  under  proper 
restraint,  and  formed  no  bad  acquaintanceships  or  asso 
ciations.  It  is  barely  possible  that  on  their  account  he 
was  the  more  willing  to  reside  in  the  neighborhood,  for, 
as  a  rich  man,  he  would  rank  high  among  the  aristocracy 
of  Sodom,  at  least  if  he  was  not  too  puritanic  in  his 
way,  and  his  children  might  move  there  in  the  very 
highest  circles,  and  ally  themselves  to  the  wealthiest  and 
most  fashionable  families  in  the  place. 

If  any  of  these  were  the  views  of  Lot,  which  is  cer- 
tainly more  than  possible,  he  had  not  himself  any  proper 


POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION.  34.9 

sense  of  the  meaning  of  that  thing — "  pitching  his  tent 
toward  Sodom."  It  was,  in  fact,  pitching  into  tempta- 
tion ;  it  was  rashly  braving  the  lion  in  his  den ;  it  was 
balancing  an  uncertain  worldly  good  against  an  almost 
certain  spiritual  loss  ;  it  was  venturing  on  a  slippery 
path  where  nine  out  of  every  ten  that  attempt  it,  fall  and 
perish,  or  are,  at  least,  crippled  for  life.  To  go  near 
Sodom  was  to  venture  near  a  maelstrom  with  the  almost 
inevitable  danger  of  being  drawn  in.  To  pitch  his  tent 
there  was  to  make  the  danger  perpetual. 

But  though  ancient  Sodom  was  burned,  there  are  other 
Sodoms  still,  though  known  by  other  names.  God 
poured  out  his  deluge  of  fire  and  burnt  every  trace  of 
the  cities  of  the  plain  off  from  the  planet,  so  that  where 
they  stood  nothing  is  left  but  salt  deserts  and  bituminous 
lakes  ;  still  their  type  of  corrupt  human  nature  is  not  ex- 
tinct. An  English  statesman  has  said,  "  Every  man  has 
his  price."  There  is  no  little  truth  as  well  as  some 
slander  in  this.  But  it  is  true  that  every  man  has  his 
Sodom,  his  peculiar  temptation.  There  is  some  sin  to 
which  he  is  drawn  by,  perhaps,  a  golden  bait  ;  some  as- 
sociation, or  friendship,  or  intercourse  which  corrupts 
or  perverts  the  mind,  or  chills  its  religious  ardor.  It 
will  be  difficult  to  find  any  society  which  has  not  one  or 
more  of  these  Sodoms  in  it.  Perhaps  it  is  some  select 
circle  of  wealth  or  fashion,  where  holy  thoughts,  like  the 
angels  of  God  in  the  city  of  the  plain,  are  persecuted  and 
outraged  ;  perhaps  it  is  some  clique  of  youtli  who  are 
madly  bent  on  fun  and  frolic,  and  fling  ridicule  and 
contempt  on  holy  things.  Possibly  it  is  a  band  of  veteran 
revelers,  a  company  of  hardened  and  dissipated  men, 
whose  jovial  manners  cover,  like  the  lie  on  a  gilt  label, 
the  most  poisonous  drugs  within.  Or  it  may  be  that  the 


35° 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


Sodom  is  a  more  ideal  tiling,  the  gaining  some  prize  of 
pleasure  or  ambition,  by  which  the  soul  is  risked — a 
Sodom  that  a  man  might  hang  up  in  his  shop  window,  or 
fold  as  a  bank-note  in  his  pocket-book — a  sort  of  abstract 
Sodom — a  corporation  seal  that  carries  all  the  authority 
and  force  of  the  city  itself. 

A  man  that  journeys  on  a  score  or  two  of  years  in 
the  world,  will  pass  many  of  these  Sodoms,  these  gilded 
homes  and  haunts  and  associations  and  symbols  of  iniquity. 
And  he  pitches  his  tent  near  them,  when  he  comes  within 
their  influence.  If  he  is  ever  saved  it  will  be  as  Lot  was, 
"  so  as  by  fire."  He  has  put  his  foot  in  the  trap,  and  if 
he  ever  takes  it  out,  it  may  be  not  as  it  went  in. 

It  is  a  most  startling  description  of  a  dangerous  phase 
in  a  man's  life,  when  it  can  be  said  of  him  he  has  "  pitched 
his  tent  toward  Sodom.77  Then  he  has  begun  to  yield, 
and  he  will  find  it  ever  harder  and  harder  work  to  resist. 
He  has  come  into  the  neighborhood  of  evil  influences 
from  which  there  is  a  strong  improbability  that  he  will 
ever  break  away.  He  is  looking  in  the  direction  of  a 
worldly  and  selfish  gratification,  and  the  object  will  rivet 
his  gaze,  like  the  fabled  eye  of  the  basilisk,  till  he 
becomes  its  victim. 

But  what  reasons  are  there  for  men  to  pursue  so  fatal 
a  course  ? 

If  you  ask  what  sufficient  and  justifying  reasons  there 
are,  I  answer,  None !  There  is  nothing — not  the  largest 
bribe,  not  the  mines  and  treasures  of  the  world,  not  a 
title-deed  to  Sodom  or  this  great  globe  itself,  that  is  any 
equivalent  for  such  a  sin,  or  can  be  a  reason  for  it.  Sin 
is  unreason,  it  is  folly  and  madness  in  every  shape  you 
can  put  it.  The  hope  of  gain  tempting  a  man  to  pass 


PO  WER  OF  A  880  CIA  TION.  3  5 1 

the  line  of  duty  or  the  rule  of  conscience  one  hair's 
breadth,  is  the  venture  of  a  soul.  The  wisdom  of  sin  is 
always  and  forever  the  wisdom  of  Judas,  selling  his  Lord 
and  master  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver.  It  is  the  same 
kind  of  business. 

But  if  you  ask  what  reasons  the  mind  considers,  or 
what  the  motives  are  which  it  views  as  reasons — we  may 
find  an  answer  by  analyzing  Lot's  experience.  Unques- 
tionably in  his  case  it  was  mainly  the  hope  of  gain.  He 
saw  the  country  fertile  and  well  watered  and  abundantly 
productive,  and  he  supposed  that  his  flocks  and  herds 
would  thrive  there.  It  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
he  was  a  man  of  a  good  degree  of  enterprise  and  fore- 
sight— knew  as  we  would  express  it  now,  how  to  make 
money,  and  he  determined  he  would.  A  fat  ox  or  sheep 
was  current  coin  in  traffic  then — when  mints  were  more 
difficult  to  be  procured  than  they  are  even  in  these  days — 
and  a  large  flock  of  such,  was  worth  as  much  as  heavy 
bank  deposits  now.  It  is  plain  then  that  his  main  object 
was  to  do  a  good  business,  as  we  would  say.  Every  other 
consideration  is  inferior  and  subordinate  to  this.  He  does 
not  pause  to  consider  how  much  such  society  as  he  would 
be  thrown  into  ought  to  reduce  the  estimate  of  his  profits  ; 
he  does  not  ask  how  much  will  this  eager  haste  to  be  rich 
interfere  with  present  duty  or  future  peace  ;  he  does  not 
consider  the  trouble  and  temptation  and  vexation  that  will 
beset  him  in  consequence  of  having  to  be  thrown  in 
among  such  a  set  of  vile  or  wicked  men— or  if  he  does, 
these  matters  are  lightly  passed  over,  and  he  commits  that 
great  mistake  which  many  have  made  since  his  day  of 
reckoning  his  clear  profits  by  what  is  equivalent  to  a 
cash  or  stock  account  at  the  end  of  the  month  or  year. 
He  does  not  appear  to  have  considered  the  question, 


352 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


What  would  God  have  me  do  ?  It  was  a  matter  not  of 
prayer  or  religion  or  duty,  but  of  the  pocket.  He  turned 
himself  for  the  time  being  into  a  money-making  machine, 
tasked  to  the  largest  returns,  and  the  result  is  as  we 
might  expect — "  He  pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom." 

We  shall  find  Lot's  experience  a  prototype.  The  grand 
reason  why  men  are  drawn  into  sin,  or  at  least  into  irre- 
ligious and  worldly  company  till  they  become  Sodomized 
in  hardness  of  heart,  is  in  very  many  cases,  the  purpose 
of  making  money.  What  friendships  and  partnerships 
money  makes !  What  crimes  it  glosses  over,  what  mean- 
ness it  covers,  what  infamy  it  hides !  Men  will  take  off 
their  hats  and  make  obeisance  to  a  worm  that  crawls  in 
gold.  They  will  take  a  human  being  into  their  company 
and  their  friendship,  because  his  rottenness,  which  they 
know  full  well,  is  plastered  over  by  the  reputation  of  being 
rich.  They  will  handle  pitch  if  it  is  only  in  a  silver 
vase  not  entirely  smeared  over — if  there  is  a  place  for 
the  fingers  to  touch  the  silver.  And  so  in  business 
transactions,  character  is  a  subordinate  thing.  They 
want  a  man  with  them  who  can  help  the  firm  and  bring 
in  round  profits,  whether  by  lies  or  truth.  A  man  goes 
often  into  a  business  not  because  it  is  one  of  general 
utility,  not  because  it  is  fair  and  honest,  but  because  it 
will  make  him  rich  as  Sodom,  perhaps  as  wicked  too.  He 
will  walk  deliberately  through  all  the  labyrinths  of 
fraud,  and  even  if  he  scruples  at  its  stratagems,  will  pass 
them  over  in  silence,  for  his  partner  or  his  accomplice 
bears  the  blame,  while  he  only  helps  him  wear  the  wedges 
of  gold  and  the  goodly  Babylonish  garments. 

And  if  these  things  are  so,  can  we  wonder  that  good 
men  often  forget  their  religion  while  they  hurry  on  to 
make  money  ?  They  pitch  their  tents  near  Sodom  with- 


PO  WER  OF  A  880  CIA  TION. 


353 


out  knowing  the  character  of  the  place — except  that  a 
heavy  business  is  done  there.  They  leave  the  Abrahams, 
the  praying  men,  and  mix  themselves  up  with  those  that 
worship  the  dollar — the  Judases,  and  Demases,  and  Ba- 
laams— whom  they  will  soon  resemble.  Their  fami- 
lies are  becoming  naturalized  Sodomites,  and  they  are, 
perhaps,  coining  the  eternal  hopes  and  welfare  of  their 
children  into  the  wealth  and  fortune  which  they  mean  to 
leave  them  when  they  die. 

But  the  love  of  money  does  not  stand  alone  among  the 
motives  that  blind  the  reason  of  men  and  lead  them  into 
bad  company  and  a  worldly  life.  They  like  the  gay  life 
and  tone  that  prevails  in  the  scenes  which  represent  to- 
day the  ancient  Sodom.  And  what  those  scenes  are  you 
may  easily  imagine.  If  I  was  to  picture  them  out  before 
you,  sketching  them  by  the  features  of  their  prototype  of 
the  plain,  I  should  use  the  smoothest  brush  and  the  fair- 
est colors.  I  should  not  select  their  original  at  that  hour 
when  the  flaming  vengeance  of  heaven  is  making  the 
dwellings  of  their  pride  fiery  tombs.  I  should  not  wait 
for  the  wicked  city  to  take  its  attitude  before  me,  when 
its  affrighted  inhabitants  are  rushing  with  mad,  wild 
haste  from  the  scenes  of  their  revelry  to  some  spot  that 
might  serve  as  a  refuge  from  this  terrible  tempest  of 
death.  This  should  be  left  far,  far  and  dim,  in  the  back- 
ground. I  would  select  that  hour  when  the  morning  sun 
clothed  every  object  in  the  glow  of  beauty  and  of  prom- 
ise ;  when  the  whole  landscape  smiled  in  the  robes  that 
God  had  woven  for  it  with  his  own  infinite  skill ;  when  the 
laugh,  and  the  jest,  and  the  merry  greeting  went  round, 
and  there  was  no  cloud  upon  the  brow  and  no  burden  on 
the  heart.  The  Sodoms  of  our  day  have  the  fascination 
as  well  as  venom  of  the  Serpent.  You  may  find  them  iu 

•  '"•.—"' 

W, 


354 


LIFE  LESSON8. 


scenes  of  festive  mirth,  in  the  gay  saloon  with  its  bril- 
liant lights  flashing  enchantment  over  their  beauty,  in 
the  thoughtless  crowds  that  follow  the  rounds  of  fashion 
and  of  pleasure  ;  in  halls  where  no  Egyptian  death's  head 
grins  its  ghastly  smile,  and  no  stern  censor  sits  with 
frowning  brow  ;  where  every  object  contributes  its  por- 
tion to  rob  life  of  every  thing  sad  or  gloomy,  and  even 
throw  a  spell  over  the  thought  of  the  grave,  to  keep  it 
down  while  vanity  and  sin  trip  on  with  the  winged  hours. 
And  it  might  not  be  amiss  that  music  and  poetry  should 
be  there  and  lend  their  charms  to  those  of  the  sparkling 
bowl,  while  wit  in  all  its  brilliancy,  and  humor  in  all  its 
sportiveness  gave  tone  to  mirth  that  needed  these  alone 
to  finish  out  the  picture  with  all  its  coloring. 

I  do  not  say  that  all  these  elements  are  necessary,  but 
let  them,  or  any  part  of  them,  be  allied  to  irreligion,  or 
even  be  divorced,  as  in  most  cases  they  must  be,  from 
piety,  and  they  make  that  Sodom,  over  which,  as  yet,  no 
fiery  tempest  hangs.  And  who  knows  not  the  motives 
that  impel  to  such  a  scene  •  the  native  restlessness  of  the 
mind  panting  after  satisfaction  ;  that  thirst  for  happiness 
that  should  lead  us  to  the  living  fountain,  but  oftenest 
stops  at  the  mudded  pool ;  that  youthful  ardor,  whose 
beating  pulse  asks  the  stimulus  of  folly  to  make  it  throb 
even  to  aching,  and  that  ambition  which  seeks  such 
scenes  for  a  theatre  on  which  to  shine.  And  yet  that 
theatre  is  a  Sodom.  Far  away  in  the  background  the 
curling  mists  are  wreathing  terrors  about  the  brow  of 
the  storm,  and  now  and  then  the  lightning  is  gleaming 
forth  like  a  flash  from  the  eye  of  an  angry  God.  Higher 
rises  the  cloud,  darkening  with  wrath,  till  the  roaring 
torrent  breaks  upon  the  startled  citizen  and  hems  him 
round  with  its  fiery  flood.  Then  you  see  him  like  a  man 


PO  WER  OF  AS80  CIA  TION.  355 

reading  the  letter  that  warned  him  of  the  incendiary,  by 
the  light  of  his  burning  dwelling — confessing  the  folly  of 
those  reasons  for  which  he  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn 
into  the  snare. 

But  how  is  it  that  a  man  can  be  said  to  "  pitch  his  tent 
toward  Sodom  ?"  I  answer,  by  taking  his  course  in  that 
direction  which  will  throw  him  into  vain  and  worldly 
company. 

When  I  see  a  youth  neglecting  to  form  steady  habits,  i 
inconstant  and  fickle,  ready  to  become  the  victim  of  the 
first  temptation  that  crosses  his  path,  I  think  there  is  a 
man  who  will   soon  "pitch  his   tent  toward   Sodom." 
When  I  see  another  neglecting  the  sanctuary  and  dese-l 
crating  the  Sabbath  by  loitering  about  here  and  there, 
or  reading  all  the  stray  things  that  come  to  hand  with- 
out regard  to  their  character — there  is  a  man  of  whom  I 
feel  sure  that  his  tent  has  been  already  "  pitched  toward 
Sodom."     When  I  see  any  one  more  anxious  about  the' 
fashions  and  modes  of  the  day  than  about  questions  of 
duty,  more  concerned  to  appear  well  in  the  eyes  of  the  ( 
world  than  beneath  the  eye  of  God,  I  recognize  there  one  I 
who  has  pitched  his  tent  so  near  to  Sodom,  that  he  is 
aping  its  manners  and  enslaving  himself  to  its  customs. 
When  I  see  a  man  neglecting  the  company  of  the  thought- 
ful and  discreet,  associating  with  those  whose  shallow- 
ness  of  brain  is  made  more  intensely  shallow  by  their 
folly,  I  ask  how  far  can  that  man's  tent  be  from  the  very 
walls  of  Sodom.     When  I  see  a  man  so  intent  on  busi- 
ness that  in  his  love  of  gain  he  shows  no  interest  or 
anxiety  to  meet  where  Christians  love  to  pray,  and  even 
feels  a  stranger  when  he  comes,  I  fear  that  man  has  too 
plainly  pitched  his  tent  totvard  Sodom.     When  I  meet 
with  one  who  puts  off  religious  duty  for  the  present  that 


356  LIFE  LESSONS. 


he  may  enjoy  the  world  in  all  its  gaiety  and  pleasure,  I  ^ 
feel  like  whispering  in  his  ear,  You  have  pitched  your' 
tent  toward  Sodom.  When  I  find  a  man  cherishing  the 
acquaintance  of  some  fascinating  and  engaging  yet  un- 
principled companion,  I  think  within  myself,  would  that 
some  one  as  with  the  archangel's  trump  would  blow  the 
blast  of  warning,  "  You  have  pitched  your  tent  toward 
Sodom." 

Whenever  you  suffer  yourself  to  come  within  the  reach 
or  sphere  of  any  influence  that  makes  you  less  conscien- 
tious, less  devoted,  less  prayerful,  it  is  a  sign  that  you  are 
pitching  your  tent  on  the  plain  of  Sodom.  Whenever 
you  suffer  yourself  to  be  drawn  off  into  plans  and  specu- 
lations that  make  you  love  the  world  more  and  the  Sa- 
viour less,  you  may  know  that  you  are  busy  removing 
your  tent  and  pitching  it  toward  Sodom.  When  you 
find  that  the  sober  pleasures  of  religion  must  be  spiced 
by  some  new  ingredient  from  the  world  to  give  them  rel- 
ish, you  may  know  that  your  tent  is  pitched  where  you 
already  breathe  the  air  of  Sodom.  When  your  anxieties 
are  manifestly  greater  to  get  rich  and  multiply  your 
hoards  on  earth  than  lay  up  treasures  in  heaven,  it  might 
be  well  to  ask  yourself  if  your  tent  is  not  &lrQ&d& pitched 
toward  Sodom.  A  man  may  think  he  is  on  perfectly 
safe  ground,  may  compliment  himself  on  the  fairness  of 
his  Christian  profession,  while  yet  in  fact  his  tent  is 
pitched  toward  Sodom.  He  may  see  every  thing  around 
him  bright  and  prosperous  and  promising,  so  that  he 
almost  thinks  he  is  in  a  paradise,  but  he  should  remember 
that  Sodom  once  was  "  like  the  garden  of  the  Lord."  A 
man  may  spend  his  thoughts  on  a  fine  location  for  his 
house,  a  good  prospect,  and  handsome  grounds,  and  when 
all  is  complete  he  may  find  too  late  that  he  has  only  been 


POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION.  357 

pitching  his  tent  toward  Sodom.  A  man  may  be  anxious 
to  get  established  in  some  business,  and  he  may  be  so 
eager  in  his  plans,  so  forward  to  execute  them,  that  over- 
looking the  question  of  their  utility  or  morality,  he  shall 
pitch  his  tent  toward  Sodom.  The  director  of  a  railroad 
company  may  have  invested  his  funds  so  largely  in  a 
Sunday-breaking  concern,  that  his  anxiety  for  the  per- 
'"•  centage  silences  his  remonstrance  at  the  sacrilege  of  mur- 
*  dering  that  holy  day  under  the  iron  wheels,  and  he  finds 
that  he  'belongs  to  a  Sodom  corporation.  A  man  led  by 
curiosity  or  pleasure  enters  the  cars  on  the  Sabbath,  to 
be  transported  to  some  distant  scene,  perhaps  of  folly, 
perhaps  of  worship,  but  he  often  neglects  to  ask,  is  this 
the  place  for  any  but  the  inhabitants  of  Sodom  f  A 
man  eager  in  regard  to  political  interests  yields  to  the 
current  around  him,  and  becomes  mixed  up  in  its  turbid 
whirl,  till  he  seems  like  one  of  the  lot — a  mere  intriguer, 
a  white-washed  wire-puller,  and  even  then  is  not  aware 
how  near  he  has  pitched  his  tent  toward  Sodom. 

But  to  show  how  men  do  this  would  be  to  recite  all 
the  brilliant  or  gainful  iniquity  of  the  world.  It  is  done 
almost  every  day  before  our  eyes.  It  is  no  laborious 
operation,  no  groaning  task.  It  is  a  mere  operation  of 
the  will,  a  choice,  that  has  such  power  that  it  takes  a 
man's  soul,  and  removes  it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  a 
thousand  miles  from  heaven,  into  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  Sodom.  It  is  thus  the  spirit  of  a  man  is 
borne  on  the  lightning  wing  of  a  wish  with  all  its  hopes 
and  passions  from  light  into  darkness,  from  Abraham's 
bosom  to  the  company  of  Sodom.  Your  choice  does  this, 
a  fleet  fugitive  volition  of  the  soul.  You  are  doing  it 
when  you  indulge  foolish  thoughts  and  fancies  ;  you  are 
doing  it  when  you  suffer  yourself  to  read  with  admiration 


358  LIFE  LESSONS. 

the  deeds  of  a  splendid  villain  or  a  wholesale  murderer 
like  Napoleon.  You  are  doing  it  when  you  suffer  novels 
and  romances  to  transport  you  even  for  a  few  hours  into 
the  company  of  Sodomites,  who  will  almost  inevitably 
draw  you  nearer  to  themselves.  You  are  doing  it  when 
you  suffer  the  glitter  of  gold  to  seduce  you  from  the 
search  after  the  priceless  pearl  of  truth  and  of  religion. 
You  are  doing  it  when  you  suffer  your  mind  to  become 
so  engrossed  with  the  things  of  time  and  sense  as  to  neg- 
lect to  prepare  for  eternity.  You  are  doing  it  when 
you  suffer  yourself  to  be  drawn  into  conformity  with  the 
vain  pleasures  and  fashions  of  the  world.  You  are  doing 
it  when  you  neglect  prayer,  and  the  Bible,  and  the  sanc- 
tuary, and  the  Sabbath.  You  are  doing  it,  perhaps,  when 
you  are  doing  nothing  else,  and  think  you  are  doing 
nothing  at  all,  for  one  of  the  sins  of  Sodom  was  "  idleness." 

But  an  equally  momentous  question  yet  remains.  What 
will  be  the  result  of  all  this  ? 

I  answer,  perhaps  increased  worldly  prosperity  for  a 
while.  This  is  not  absolutely  certain,  but  oftentimes  it 
is  the  case.  Doubtless  it  was  with  Lot,  or  he  never  would 
have  remained  in  the  neighborhood  so  many  years  as  he 
did.  His  flocks  and  herds  throve  and  increased.  The 
rich  and  fertile  and  well-watered  soil  furnished  him  an 
abundant  pasturage,  and  the  city  of  Sodom  was  at  hand 
as  a  good  market.  He  must  have  felt  convinced  that  he 
was  doing  a  good  business,  although  we  can  see  now  that 
his  gains  were  a  curse,  the  bait  of  that  great  man-hunter 
Satan,  and  Lot  was  decoyed  into  his  trap,  with  all  his 
family,  and  some  of  them  could  not  get  out.  But  for  a 
time  he  evidently  prospered.  It  may  be  that  he  congrat- 
ulated himself  many  times  that  he  quitted  the  company 
of  his  too  Puritanic  uncle  who  had  scrupled,  up  to  the 


POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION. 


359 


time  of  their  separation,  to  avail  himself  of  the  advan- 
tages of  that  neighborhood.  And  Lot's  condition  in  this 
respect  may  be  a  type  of  many  others.  Some  men  make 
themselves  rich,  as  they  think,  much  more  rapidly  by 
knavery  and  fraud  and  meanness.  Religion  stands  in 
their  way  and  they  discard  it.  Morality  interferes  with 
a  profitable  lie,  and  is  cast  out  of  the  firm.  It  is  more 
than  possible  that  things  go  as  they  wish.  Their  gains 
count  up.  They  make  large  dividends.  They  can  afford 
a  greater  degree  of  splendor.  They  can  serve  mammon 
in  a  princely  style  with  his  own  bribes.  Their  houses 
are  furnished  like  a  palace.  They  can  procure  the  most 
costly  fabrics.  They  can  lead  the  fashion.  They  can 
compete  with  the  aristocracy  of  Sodom.  So  far  the  par- 
allel of  their  condition  with  Lot's  is  kept  up  as  it  respects 
prosperity. 

But  perhaps  there  is  a  further  parallel  in  the  history 
of  their  family.  The  minds  of  children,  in  the  atmosphere 
of  such  a  home  as  theirs  will  be,  drink  in  poison  from  the 
first  breath  of  intelligence.  The  neighborhood  and  the 
associations  are  all  Sodom-like.  Wealth  is  the  house- 
hold God,  and  they  are  idolaters  long  before  they  know 
of  any  other  worship.  They  come  in  contact  only  with 
scenes  that  corrupt  and  pervert.  On  the  upper  strata  of 
society,  where  they  move,  float  like  foam  on  a  stream,  the 
lightest  materials.  Their  minds  become  mere  air  bubbles, 
blown  up  with  pride ;  and  when  mixed  with  the  foam 
around  them,  dissolvable  into  less  than  a  drop  of  good 
sense.  It  will  be  a  remarkable  escape  if  they  pass  the 
rapids  of  youth  without  being  tossed  to  fragments  or  scat- 
tered in  froth  and  foam.  It  is  possible  they  may  fall  into 
some  eddy  where  they  will  revolve  and  revolve  till  they 
are  lost  in  the  mass  of  drifting  dust  and  straws  that  cir- 


360  LIFE  LESSONS. 

cle  around  them.  Many  a  parent  has  enriched  his  chil- 
dren to  destroy  them.  He  has  given  them  wealth  as 
Naaman  gave  it  to  Gehazi,  and  a  leprosy  with  it.  In 
giving  them  facilities  for  moving  in  the  circles  of  wealth 
and  fashion,  he  has  helped  them  to  ally  themselves  with 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  Soclom.  They  have  grown  up 
to  be  his  grief,  and  to  bring  down  his  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  His  ill-gotten  wealth,  his  gold  and 
silver  denied  to  the  service  of  Him  for  whom  he  should 
have  been  a  steward,  have  cankered  in  his  hand  and 
eaten  his  flesh  as  it  were  fire.  And  the  prophecy  has 
been  fulfilled  in  those  that  are  bone  of  his  bone  and  flesh 
of  his  flesh. 

Another  result  of  pitching  one's  tent  toward  Sodom 
will  be  a  growing  disposition  to  tolerate  its  sin.  Some 
men  call  this  liberality.  I  call  it  atheistic  indifference. 
It  is  almost  a  certain  result  of  mixing  with  vile  men  or 
having  any  thing  to  do  with  the  unprincipled  and  immoral 
that  we  become,  almost  unconsciously,  their  apologists. 
Their  enormities,  their  sacrilege  and  blasphemy,  their 
profanity  and  obscenity,  their  excesses  and  follies,  excite 
less  and  less  repugnance.  We  are  not  horrified  as  we 
were  once  at  them.  Our  own  feelings  and  character 
have  undergone  a  wondrous  change.  Virtue  has  gone 
out  of  us,  not  to  come  back  again.  Conscience  is  less 
strict.  Sin  is  less  criminal.  Truth  and  justice  are  less 
sacred.  We  are  ready  to  relax  even  the  severity  of 
God,  and  become  Universalists,  as  I  suppose  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Sodom  were,  almost  to  a  man. 

Another  result  that  follows,  if  it  does  not  accompany, 
the  one  just  specified,  is  a  disbelief  in  the  judgments  of 
God.  When  there  ceases  to  be  in  our  minds  any  vivid 
distinction  between  righteousness  and  sin,  we  shall  see 


POWER  OF  ASSOCIATION.  361 

but  little  need  of  a  judgment.  A  man  who  associates 
with  unprincipled  and  worldly-minded  men  will  see  them 
acting  every  day  without  any  regard  to  that  distinction. 
A  crime  is  with  them,  as  with  Napoleon,  inferior  to  a 
blunder.  No  sin  is  so  great  as  the  loss  of  a  good  bar* 
gain  ;  no  virtue  half  so  meritorious  as  a  faculty  of  making 
money.  It  is  this,  according  to  their  Gospel  of  Mammon, 
and  not  charity,  which  covers  a  multitude  of  sins.  Such 
society  as  theirs  is  eminently  corrupting.  The  atmos- 
phere they  breathe  is  the  chloroform  of  morals.  Without 
pain,  and  before  we  are  aware,  it  deadens  sensibility,  if 
not  life,  and  recovery  is  rare.  We  begin  to  cast  off  the 
awful  sense  of  a  just  and  holy  God.  We  begin  to  be- 
lieve He  cannot  be  present ;  never  interfering,  where  the 
principles  of  truth  and  justice  are  weighed  in  the  same 
scales  with  cotton  ;  where  princely  villains  play  the  part 
of  Dives,  where  the  plains  of  Sodom  are  like  the  garden 
of  the  Lord.  Thus  we  cease  to  dread  either  present 
judgment  or  a  judgment  to  come.  We  slumber  on  in 
perfect  security.  Every  thing  is  fair  and  full  of  promise. 
We  dread  no  terrible  reverse.  We  sleep  as  quietly  as 
Sodom  in  the  days  of  her  guilt,  before  that  terrible  morn- 
ing broke  whose  early  hours  were  to  see  her  entombed 
in  fire. 

And  when  the  fear  of  God  is  gone,  where  and  what  is 
man  ?  A  blazing  world  broke  loose  from  its  central 
orb  ;  a  madman  escaped  from  his  cell ;  a  being  you  can 
neither  trust  nor  control!  Destroy  that  fear  in  your 
mind,  and  you  may  go  on  in  deeds  of  desperation  that 
will  rival  the  guilt  of  ancient  Sodom.  There  is  nothing 
to  bound  the  audacity  of  your  desperation  when  tempta- 
tion calls. 

There  is  but  one  step  more  to  the  climax  of  the  result. 
16 


362  LIFE  LESSONS. 

And  that  may  be  seen  by  the  light  of  burning  Sodom. 
It  is  the  inevitable  doom  of  sin.  You  may  fill  your  cup 
for  a  long  while  before  the  drop  comes  that  will  make  it 
overflow.  But  it  will  come  at  last.  So  it  was  with 
Sodom.  So  it  is  and  will  be  with  every  sinner.  It  will 
come,  perhaps,  in  a  moment  unlocked  for.  Judgment 
will  break  forth  like  the  lightnings,  and  while  you  think 
yourself  safe  you  will  be  crushed. 

And  what  a  doom  will  yours  be  ?  If  Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah rise  up  in  judgment  against  Chorazin  and  Beth- 
saida,  will  not  Chorazin  and  Bethsaida,  from  their  lowest 
deep,  rise  up  to  condemn  you  who  deserve  a  lower  ?  And 
if  the  earthly  vengeance  that  overtook  Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah is  too  terrible  to  be  described,  what  will  your  lot 
be,  if  you  sin  against  the  light  of  the  clear  shining  Gos- 
pel, and  the  truth  of  your  convictions  ? 

Where,  then,  are  you  now  ?  In  the  broad  way,  in  the 
paths  of  impenitence,  with  your  "  tent  pitched  toward 
Sodom  ?"  Retrace  your  steps.  Its  smiling  fields  and 
glowing  landscape  allure  to  ruin.  They  are  the  crust  of 
a  fire-bed.  Hasten  away.  Leave  your  gains  and  your 
gold,  and  save  your  soul ! 


XXXVIIL 

BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES. 

"Other  men  labored  and  ye  are  entered  into  their  labors."  —  JOHN  iv.  38 


BATITUDE  is  instinctive.  A  mind  properly  con- 
VJT  stituted  cannot  receive  a  favor  without  feeling 
impelled  to  acknowledge  the  obligation.  All  the  bless- 
ings we  are  conscious  of  enjoying  are  so  many  calls  made 
upon  us,  in  the  providence  of  God,  to  seek  out  and  ac- 
knowledge their  source.  What  is  that  source  ? 

There  can  be  but  one,  underived  and  original.  There 
are  ten  thousand  channels  through  which  the  blessings 
reach  us,  but  we  may  trace  them  all  back  to  one  great 
fountain.  We  should  not,  as  we  drink  the  refreshing 
draught,  spurn  the  cup  or  the  hand  that  offers  it  ;  but 
ought  we  not  to  recognize  the  heart  that  impels  the 
hand? 

There  are  few  of  our  privileges  or  comforts  that  are 
of  our  own  individual  procurement.  They  have  been 
transmitted  to  us  from  past  generations,  or  they  are  the 
fruits  of  social  organization.  Their  true  history  carries 
us  back  to  distant  ages,  or  brings  to  view  the  sweat,  and 
toil,  and  blood  of  others,  whom,  perhaps,  we  have  never 
seen.  There  is  scarcely  a  familiar  utensil  of  our  dwell- 
ings with  which  thousands  of  busy  fingers  have  not  been 
more  or  less  associated.  It  is  connected  with  slowly 
evolved  processes  of  art,  with  the  rudiments  and  progress 

(363) 


364  LIFE  LESSONS. 

of  science,  with  repeated  experiments,  with  associated 
effort  reaching  back  through  centuries. 

How  many  of  the  things  which  contribute  to  your  con- 
venience, if  not  necessity,  have  come  from  distant  lands ! 
Yet  before  the  vessel  that  brought  them  could  spread 
her  sails  and  go  forth  upon  the  broad,  trackless  ocean, 
the  science  of  navigation  had  to  be  built  up,  and  the  art 
of  ship-building  had  to  be  perfected,  and  the  methods  of 
commerce,  including  the  excavation  of  ore  and  the  coin- 
ing of  money  had  to  be  devised.  The  time  was  when 
the  rude  canoe  was  the  highest  achievement  of  ship- 
building art ;  when  the  sailor,  clinging  to  the  coast-line, 
dared  not  venture  out  of  sight  of  land ;  when  the  fur- 
nace was  as  yet  unknown,  and  only  the  rudest  forms  of 
barter  were  the  embryo  of  a  now  world- wide  commerce. 
It  has  taken  ages  to  secure  the  progress  that  has  been 
obtained.  The  history  of  navigation  carries  us  back  to 
the  invention  of  the  mariner's  compass,  to  the  study  of 
astronomy  by  Newton,  Copernicus,  Gallileo,  Ptolemy, 
nay,  by  the  Chaldean  shepherds  watching  their  flocks  by 
night,  and  taking  the  earliest  critical  observation  of  the 
stars  by  which  the  sailor  determines  his  place  on  the 
broad  ocean  waste.  It  carries  us  back  to  the  old  crude 
methods  of  ship-building,  when  steam  was  unknown,  and 
the  ancient  triremes  were  impelled  by  oars,  and  the  sail 
was  only  a  doubtful  experiment. 

We  must  call  to  mind,  also,  the  slow  progress  of  geo- 
graphical science,  exploring  bay  and  river,  and  creeping 
venturously  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and 
peering  out,  by  the  "  Pillars  of  Hercules/7  into  the  un- 
known ocean  ;  then  venturing  with  Columbus  across  the 
broad,  watery  waste,  and  revealing  a  New  World  ;  then 
by  countless  voyages  of  bold  explorers  searching  out  a 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES.  365 

path  to  the  Indies,  and  perfecting,  with  new  faint  lines, 
the  charts  that  map  island,  ocean,  shallow  and  shore. 

Take  your  seat  by  your  own  quiet  hearthstone,  and 
think  for  a  moment  of  the  various  relationships  by  which, 
in  the  enjoyment  of  your  blessings,  you  are  linked,  not 
only  to  the  present  and  the  living,  but  to  the  distant  and 
the  dead.  Let  imaginary  lines  be  drawn  from  each  ob- 
ject that  furnishes  your  dwelling,  from  each  volume  that 
lies  upon  your  shelf  or  table,  from  each  comfort  or  con- 
venience of  your  home,  from  each  influence  that  has  in- 
structed your  mind  or  fashioned  your  character,  back  to 
the  ten  thousand  objects  in  which  they  each  originated, 
or  in  which  they  had  their  birth,  and  you  will  find  your- 
self, like  the  sun,  the  centre  of  a  vast  system  revolving 
about  you,  for  your  convenience  ;  nay,  the  centre  of  innu- 
merable rays  of  blessing  and  beneficence,  only  they  are 
all  received  instead  of  dispensed.  You  will  find  that 
just  as  the  sunbeams  are  so  many  telegraphic  messengers, 
uniting,  by  their  lines  of  light,  every  sand-grain,  and 
dew-drop,  every  grass-blade,  and  leaf,  and  flower  to  one 
point ;  so  in  your  own  home,  in  your  own  heart,  meet  the 
countless  lines  of  influence  and  blessing  that  come 
streaming  down  to  you  through  the  centuries,  and  con- 
nect each  of  your  comforts,  conveniences,  or  privileges 
with  the  names,  and  toil,  and  invention,  and  heroism  of 
innumerable  benefactors,  who,  in  one  way  or  another, 
have  bequeathed  to  you  the  results  of  their  invention, 
their  self-denial,  their  enterprise  or  their  effort. 

The  humblest  utensil  of  household  economy  has  really 
a  history  almost  primeval,  carrying  you  back  to  the  long, 
rude  and  abortive  experiments  of  semi-barbarous  art. 
Invention  and  toil  pioneered  a  tardy  progress  ;  and  just 
as  the  emigrant  is  forced  to  thread  the  mazes  of  the  forest, 


3  66  LIFE  LESSONS. 

open  roads,  and  bridge  streams,  and  toil  on  long  and 
tediously  beneath  the  deep  shadows  and  amid  the  almost 
unbroken  solitude,  before  villages  and  civilized  art, 
schools,  and  churches,  and  social  culture  can  spring  up 
around  him,  so  ages  of  toilsome  endeavor  must  pioneer 
us  before  we  can  enter  in  peace  upon  the  inheritance  of 
their  achievement.  If  you  should  undertake  to  write  out 
in  full  the  history  of  one  of  the  most  common  implements 
of  art — write  it  as  the  history  of  the  steam-engine  has 
been  written — you  would  find  yourself  threading  your 
way  through  the  labyrinths  of  past  centuries,  gazing, 
perhaps,  on  the  rude  anvils  that  ring  out  amid  German 
forests,  or  studying  the  primitive  armor  of  Grecian 
heroes  ;  or,  floating  down  the  stream  of  time,  you  would 
meet,  perhaps,  with  some  contribution  from  the  specula- 
tions of  an  Albertus  Magnus  or  Roger  Bacon,  some  acci- 
dental discovery  of  a  noted  alchemist,  some  lingering 
tradition  of  oriental  usage,  some  accidental  discovery 
which  genius  stood  ready  to  employ,  till  a  printing  press, 
a  lightning  rod,  a  safety  lamp,  or  a  lucifer  match  met 
your  eye  as  the  memorial  of  ages  of  striving  and  inven- 
tive experiment.  As  we  read  of  the  crude  efforts  of 
early  art,  we  are  not  prepared  to  see  at  first  their  real 
and  important  connection  with  the  triumphs  of  modern 
skill.  And  yet  the  stream  that  floats  down  to  our  doors 
the  harvests  of  past  ages  of  effort,  is  continuous,  like  a 
vast  river,  draining  the  valley  of  time  of  its  ingenuity, 
fed,  in  its  original,  by  countless  springs  bursting  from 
distant  hill-sides  or  from  mountain  snows,  with  tributaries 
winding  unseen  through  the  obscurity  of  dark  ravines 
and  interminable  forests,  without  so  much  as  a  charted 
line  for  their  memorial.  A  wandering  traveler  might 
sit  down  by  the  mossy  brink  of  some  mountain  spring,  or 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES.  367 

launch  his  light  canoe  on  the  surface  of  some  calm  lake 
in  the  far  off  wilds  without  suspecting  that  it  was  the 
germ  of  a  Mississippi  or  an  Amazon  ;  that  there  the  cur- 
rent that  might  at  length  float  the  navies  of  the  world 
had  its  humble  birth  ;  and  so,  in  the  remote  tracts  of 
time,  the  historic  traveler  might  stumble,  without  know- 
ing it,  upon  some  rude  contrivance  or  simple  fancy,  or 
happy  accident,  which  was  the  germ  of  a  broad  develop- 
ment of  civilized  industry,  the  head  fountain  that  gave 
the  impulse  of  its  descending  current  to  turn  the  wheels 
of  the  machinery  of  modern  art.  But  so  it  is.  Others 
have  labored  and  we  have  entered  into  their  labors. 
The  clustering  comforts  of  our  homes,  all  the  arts,  and 
inventions,  and  discoveries  that  make  them  differ  from 
the  Indian's  wigwam,  or  the  kraal  of  the  Hottentot, 
have  come  down  to  us  from  the  labors  of  past  and  dis- 
tant generations. 

But  what  are  all  the  material  comforts  of  our  civiliza- 
tion, much  as  we  should  miss  them  if  they  were  with- 
drawn ;  what  are  all  the  arts  and  conveniences  that  add 
refinement  and  lend  their  charm  to  our  social  life,  and 
minister  to  our  social  enjoyment,  by  the  side  of  those 
higher  blessings  of  moral  and  religious  privilege  without 
which  all  beside  is  but  as  the  shell  without  the  kernel, 
the  husk  and  chaff  without  the  grain  ?  Here  our  vast 
indebtedness  is  again  brought  to  view.  I  cannot  take 
up  the  work  of  any  great  master  in  the  world  of  thought 
without  being  constrained  to  confess  how  vast  is  the  ob- 
ligation imposed  upon  me  by  the  privilege  of  committing 
myself  to  his  guidance,  or  listening  to  his  animating  words 
that  lend  wings  to  my  spirit  and  teach  it  to  soar  to 
spheres  of  lofty  meditation.  I  cannot  turn  over  those 
leaves,  crowded  with  conceptions  that  enrich  my  own 


3 68  LIFE  LESSONS. 

soul  as  I  read,  that,  in  ray  just  estimate,  beggar  all  ma- 
terial wealth,  without  being  constrained  to  acknowledge 
that  I  have  entered  upon  an  inheritance  prepared  by 
other  hands,  on  gardens  that  they  have  planted,  on  vines 
that  they  have  trained,  and  fountains  that  they  have 
opened.  I  find  iny  lost  thoughts  that  roam  at  random, 
furnished  with  guides  that  lead  me  to  scenes  where  the 
mind  may  feast  itself  on  whatsoever  is  lofty  and  pure, 
glorious  or  sublime.  They  take  me  to  the  Pisgahs  of 
vision,  or  to  "  chambers  of  imagery  ;"  or  they  lead  me 
where  the  unfolded  magnificence  of  more  than  sun  and 
stars  is  spread  out  to  my  view,  and  I  am  roofed  with  a 
firmament  of  wisdom  and  goodness  transcending  that 
which  the  telescope  unfolds.  Those  old  thinkers,  al- 
ready notching  their  centuries,  how  they  call  me  up 
to  them,  or  sit  down  by  my  side  and  speak  to  me  in 
words  that  leave  the  most  enduring  impression !  They 
make  me  a  different  being.  They  expand  my  mind  to  a 
loftier  stature  ;  they  inspire  my  soul  with  their  grand 
conceptions.  With  a  pupil's  gratitude  I  recognize  them 
as  masters.  They  have  built  with  Herculean  might, 
bridges  of  truth  over  gulfs  of  doubt,  where  else  I  had 
floundered,  and  mired,  and  sunk  ;  they  have  grappled 
with  problems  of  being  and  providence  that  had  else  ap- 
palled my  feebler  powers.  Across  the  centuries  they 
stretch  to  me  the  hand  of  brotherhood,  and  cheer  me, 
like  them,  to  do  and  dare. 

Yet  they  have  not  enriched  me  alone.  The  social 
world  around  me,  made  so  genial,  or  at  least  so  tolerable, 
owes  its  culture  of  mind  and  heart  to  their  endeavor. 
Their  thoughts  have  been,  for  generations,  like  the  early 
and  the  latter  rain.  Not  only  the  lofty  tree  has  been 
refreshed,  but  the  lowliest  grass-blade  in  the  humblest 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES.  369 

nook.  Educate  the  leading  minds  of  a  people,  and 
through  them  the  blessings  of  knowledge  and  culture  are 
distilled  upon  the  whole  field  of  social  life.  The  quick- 
ening power  of  high,  pure  thought  diffuses  itself  like  the 
bracing  influence  of  fresh  air.  The  millions  breathe  it, 
and  society  and  the  State  acquire  a  more  vigorous  life, 
in  which  we  share,  and  by  which  we  are  blessed  our- 
selves. Each  virtue  and  each  grace  springs  up  refreshed. 
We  are  surrounded  by  the  privileges  and  comforts  of 
general  intelligence,  culture  and  refinement. 

Thus  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  estimate  how  much  we 
owe — not  for  the  wealth  of  mere  abstract  speculative 
thought,  but  for  practical  enlightenment  and  permanent 
impulse — to  those  who  have  preceded  us,  who  have  made 
our  books,  fashioned  our  literature,  and  left  the  impress 
of  their  large  and  sagacious  wisdom  on  the  institutions 
that  we  enjoy.  Perhaps  they  were  accounted  theorists. 
Perhaps  they  were  classed  as  pedants  or  book- worms.  Yet 
their  explorations  have  discovered  and  opened  mines  of 
thought,  or  the  trees  they  planted  have  proved  century 
oaks,  under  which  generations  have  sat  and  sung.  The  very 
soil  itself  has  a  larger  value,  that  their  feet  have  trod  it, 
and  that  their  thoughts  are  current  in  the  minds  of  those 
that  tread  it  still.  We  are  the  richer  vastly  in  intellec- 
tual and  spiritual  wealth,  that  they  have  lived  and  medi- 
tated, and  spoken,  but  we  are  also  richer  in  the  domain 
of  art  and  material  wealth.  The  very  acres,  the  dead 
soil,  the  hills  and  valleys  themselves,  acquire  a  new 
value,  that  they  have  been  pressed  by  the  feet  of  the 
pilgrims,  or  been  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  a  Washing- 
ton. We  are  richer  that  Milton  wrote,  that  Bacon 
and  Locke  speculated,  and  that  Newton  read  to  us  the 
lessons  of  the  stars — richer  not  only  in  the  treasures  of 
16* 


37o  LIFE  LESSONS. 

learning,  but  in  the  wealth  which  the  State  recognizes 
and  the  miser  hoards. 

Thus,  all  the  great  students  and  thinkers  of  the  pa^t 
have  labored  for  us.  The  speculations  of  the  philoso- 
phers, and  the  glowing  visions  and  inspiring  thoughts  of 
the  poet  are  our  rich  inheritance.  Columbus  discovered 
for  us  the  New  World,  but  far  more  glorious  in  their 
aims  and  hopes,  the  great  navigators  on  the  sea  of  hu- 
man thought  trusting  to  the  unerring  needle  of  the  Word 
of  God,  have  opened  to  us,  not  a  new  world,  but  a  new 
firmament  of  worlds.  How  vastly  enlarged,  how  im- 
mensely expanded,  is  the  field  of  enterprise  which  they 
have  set  before  us!  To  what  new  and  hitherto  unex- 
plored realms  have  we  been  conducted  under  their  guid- 
ance !  They  make  the  tenant  of  the  humblest  hovel  the 
possible  lord  of  a  vast,  a  boundless  domain.  Who  that 
reflects  for  a  moment  on  the  range  of  intellectual  vision, 
on  the  fields  of  experience,  on  the  wealth  of  motive,  on 
the  inspiring  power  of  high  and  hallowed  example — all 
arrayed  before  us  through  the  labors  of  the  great  minds 
of  the  past,  can  restrain  his  lips  from  the  involuntary  con- 
fession of  our  vast  indebtedness  ? 

If  we  consider  our  civil  privileges,  we  shall  find  that 
they  are  not  of  our  own  procurement.  They  are  an  in- 
heritance, and  how  often  toil-won  or  blood-bought ! 
Orderly  and  constitutional  government — government  by 
law  and  by  rulers  of  our  own  choice — is  one  of  the  latest 
matured  harvests  of  time.  Wisest  men  have  studied  the 
arts  of  constructing  States.  Jurisprudence  is  an  old 
science.  Its  foundations  lie  deep  in  the  early  ages,  when 
Draconian  codes,  or  the  wisdom  of  Solons  and  Numas, 
or  the  imported  "Tables"  of  Eoman  laws  commanded 
veneration  and  respect.  How  slowly  and  tediously  even 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES. 


371 


down  to  the  present,  has  the  science  progressed  through 
Roman  organization  and  statesmanship — the  care  of 
Justinian  and  Theodosius,  the  labors  of  Ulpian  and  Tri- 
bonian,  the  research  and  speculations  and  conclusions  of 
Grotius  and  Vattel,  of  the  Cokes  and  Blackstones,  and 
Stowells,  and  Kents,  and  Storys,  and  Livingstons,  whose 
names  are  the  lights  of  jurisprudence,  and  under  whose 
guidance  it  has  attained  to  its  present  position  ! 

In  civil  progress  experiment  has  followed  experiment, 
and  failure  has  succeeded  to  failure,  till  inch  by  inch,  we 
have  been  permitted  to  feel  that  there  was  at  least  some 
advance.  All  this  while  precedents  have  been  accumu- 
lating, experience  has  been  stored  up. 

Who  can  estimate  our  debt  to  the  wisdom,  valor  and 
large  foresight  of  the  heroes  of  the  Revolution  and  the 
early  statesmen  of  the  Republic  ?  Let  their  names,  then, 
be  honored  as  they  deserve.  Among  them  were  true  and 
noble,  as  well  as  able  men,  and  history,  to  its  latest  page, 
must  recognize  their  worth.  They  took  large  views  of 
the  future.  They  laid  the  foundations  of  Government 
deep  and  strong.  They  built  more  wisely,  in  some  re- 
spects, than  they  imagined.  If  as  men,  on  some  points, 
they  proved  fallible,  it  is  not  for  us  sharply  to  criticise 
their  errors.  Later  statesmanship,  with  all  the  lessons 
of  a  larger  experience  before  it,  leaves  still  undimmed 
the  splendor  of  names  like  those  of  Washington  and  Frank- 
lin, Hamilton,  Adams,  Jay,  Jefferson,  and  Witherspoon. 

The  inquiry  is  pertinent,  How  came  we  by  such  men  ? 
The  statesmen  of  that  age  were  themselves  the  pupils  of 
the  past.  For  their  wisdom,  for  their  sagacity,  for  their 
principles,  and  their  methods  of  applying  them,  they  were 
indebted  to  the  experience  of  earlier  periods.  The  ex- 
amples of  preceding  failure  and  success  in  kindred  ex- 


372  LIFE  LESSONS. 

periments  had  not  been  lost  upon  them.  If  not  versed, 
all  of  them,  in  classic  lore,  there  were  certain  important 
lessons,  traced  as  epitaphs  on  the  tombstones  of  dead  em- 
pires, which  they  knew  by  heart.  For  their  instruction, 
history  opened  her  broad  page  ;  for  their  warning  or 
guidance,  political  philosophy  trimmed  her  lamps — some 
of  them  long  dimmed  and  half  stifled  in  the  sepulchres 
of  buried  nations  ;  for  them  Locke  and  Sidney  had 
speculated,  and  for  them  the  Bradfords  and  Winthrops 
had,  on  the  bleak  coast  of  New  England,  changed  the 
ideal  to  the  actual.  It  was  not  in  vain  for  them  that 
Hampden  hacTresisted  the  payment  of  an  illegal  tax,  or 
that  Milton  had  pleaded  so  eloquently  for  "  the  liberty 
of  unlicensed  printing."  The  Constitution  which  they 
framed  was,  in  reality— as  to  its  elements — a  mosaic 
made  up  from  all  preceding  ages  and  from  the  contribu- 
tions of  all  the  most  eminent  thinkers  that  had  gone  be- 
fore. Fragments  of  the  old  Jewish  theocracy  were 
there ;  scraps  borrowed  from  the  speculations  of  Plato 
and  Cicero ;  lessons  out  of  Athenian  history  and  the 
Achaian  league  ;  suggestions  borrowed  from  Roman  or- 
ganization and  the  Justinian  Code  ;  ideas  transplanted 
from  the  history  of  the  Mediaeval  Italian  republics,  and 
the  towns  of  the  Hanseatic  league,  and  the  Federal  ex- 
perience of  the  Swiss  cantons ;  principles  that  had  shot 
up  to  a  world-admired  harvest  in  the  little  Genevan  re- 
public, that  had  flourished  in  the  rise  and  triumph  of  the 
Netherlands  over  the  tyranny  of  Spain,  that  had  been 
scattered  abroad  to  germinate  under  the  ashes  of  Eng- 
land's Smithfields,  and  amid  Scottish  heaths  and  glens, 
that  had,  in  fact,  crossed  the  ocean  in  the  Mayflower  and 
been  embodied  in  town  and  church  organisms,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  half-subdued  forests  of  the  Eastern  colonies. 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES. 


373 


This  is  not  a  picture  of  fancy.  The  more  close  our 
scrutiny  the  more  clearly  will  the  indebtedness  of  our 
early  statesmen  be  confessed.  They  received  the  be- 
quest of  the  world's  antecedent  experience  and  a  sum- 
mary of  the  results  of  its  endeavors  in  that  sphere  in 
which  they  were  specially  to  labor.  Their  merit  was, 
that,  trained  under  peculiar  circumstances  by  that  Provi- 
dence that  raised  them  up  for  their  work,  they  used  them 
wisely  and  well.  But  no  history  of  the  construction  of 
the  Constitution  could  be  more  curious  or  instructive 
tli an  the  history  of  its  component  elements,  and  the  in- 
fluences and  experiences  by  which  they  were  moulded 
and  shaped.  And,  in  the  final  search,  whence  came 
these,  but  from  the  same  wise  Providence  and  the  same 
divine  goodness  that  trained  up  for  us  those  patriot 
statesmen  ? 

So,  also,  the  men  of  their  age  had  been  providentially 
fitted  for  the  crisis  they  were  called  to  meet.  The  best 
blood  of  England  flowed  in  their  veins.  They  were  the 
children  of  those  who  had  fought  under  Cromwell,  who 
had  listened  to  Howe  and  Owen,  Baxter  and  Manton, 
Norton  and  Shepard,  and  Hooker.  They  had  been 
forced  to  wrestle  with  untamed  Nature,  and,  by  sweat 
and  toil,  wring  their  bread  from  an  ungenial  soil.  The 
war-whoop  had  not  died  out  of  the  forests  around  them 
ere  many  of  them  had  attained  to  early  manhood,  and 
some  of  them  had  been  cradled  in  forts  or  to  the  echo  of 
the  sentinel's  tread.  But  more  than  all,  they  had  read 
the  Bible  ;  they  had  read  of  Moses  and  an  oppressed 
people,  of  Gideon  and  the  deliverance  he  wrought,  of 
David  and  his  defiance  of  the  Philistine.  They  had  pon- 
dered over  Christ's  words :  "  Render  unto  Caesar  the 
things  that  are  Csesar's,  and  unto  God  the  things  that 


374  LIFE  LESSONS. 

are  God's."  They  had  received  by  tradition  and  from 
trustworthy  records  the  story  of  the  martyrs7  faith  and 
the  hardships  of  the  victims  of  Star  Chamber  and  High 
Commission,  till  antipathy  toward  tyrants,  secular  or  ec- 
clesiastic, Straffords  or  Lauds,  beat  in  every  pulse. 

And  then  came  those  irritating  attempts  to  invade  the 
liberties  of  the  Colonists,  which,  for  a  whole  generation, 
were  training  them  for  the  decisive  hour.  Nothing 
shows  more  strikingly  the  Providence  that  was  working 
out  the  result,  that  was  training  our  fathers,  and  fitting 
them  to  respond  to  the  appeal  that  was  soon  to  be  made 
to  their  endurance  and  their  valor. 

We  see  thus  our  indebtedness  to  them  and  our  indebt- 
edness also  to  the  Providence  that  raised  them  up  and 
prepared  them  for  their  work.  Thus,  we  go  back  to  the 
Pilgrims,  to  the  Reformers,  to  the  Martyrs.  But  we 
cannot  stop  even  with  the  Reformation,  its  heroisms  and 
its  martyrs :  for  these  were  but  tributaries  of  a  stream 
that  had  been  flowing  all  along,  almost  hidden,  indeed, 
while  it  wound  feebly  through  the  wilderness  of  the  Dark 
Ages,  but  bursting  forth  in  its  freshness  from  the  foun- 
tain of  Calvary,  and  in  the  early  centuries  giving  assur- 
ance of  a  force  and  a  volume  which  could  not  be  sup- 
pressed. The  Author  of  the  Gospel,  the  Founder  of 
Christianity,  the  One  who  gave  his  Apostles  u  a  mouth 
and  wisdom,"  and  taught  them  to  endure  the  fiery  trial, 
is  really  the  original  source  of  all  our  political  and  social 
blessings,  and  only  a  shallow  philosophy  overlooks  the  fact. 

Thus,  for  ourselves  we  must  confess  that  "  others  have 
labored,  and  we  have  entered  into  their  labors."  Hands 
that  have  long  been  folded  in  the  grave  sowed  the  seed 
of  which  we  reap  the  harvest.  Upon  us  "  the  ends  of 
the  world  are  come."  The  tree  of  privilege  under  which 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES.  375 

we  repose,  or  from  the  loaded  branches  of  which  we  pluck 
the  richest  fruit,  was  planted  long  before  our  birth.  It 
is  a  patriarch  of  the  forest,  a  Runnymede  memorial,  a 
Charter  Oak  of  centuries,  that  had  a  history  already  be- 
fore its  spreading  shadow  had  fringed  the  shores  of  this 
Western  World.  It  sprang  up  long  ago,  when  the  heel 
of  mailed  warriors  trampled  the  leaves  of  its  bed,  when 
the  streams  of  devotion  that  poured  forth  from  prison 
and  catacomb,  and  the  streams  of  blood  that  flowed  in 
the  amphitheatre,  or  from  the  block,  watered  its  young 
life.  Justin  Martyr  vindicated  its  right  to  be,  and  Au- 
gustine in  his  "  City  of  God  "  registered  its  growth  and 
forecast  its  prospects.  It  sent  out  its  roots  till  they 
struck  deep  in  the  soil  of  centuries  ;  and  one  reached  out 
its  fibres  to  drink  from  the  soil  where  the  blood  of  the 
faithful  had  flowed,  and  another  twined  itself  about 
Magna  Charta,  and  another  about  Wickliffe's  Bible  and 
the  homes  of  the  Lollards,  and  another  drank  up  the 
dews  that  fell  silent  upon  the  scenes  where  a  Claude,  and 
a  Bernard,  and  a  Savonarola  labored,  and  another  reached 
afar  to  the  banks  of  the  Moldau  and  the  shores  of  Con- 
stance to  imbibe  the  virtue  that  was  in  the  lives  and  the 
ashes  of  the  Bohemian  Reformers,  and  another  reached 
toward  the  Swiss  Cantons  and  the  School  of  Calvin,  and 
another  was  rooted  in  Wittemberg  and  the  German  for- 
ests, and  others  still  might  be  found  beneath  the  fires  of 
Smithfield,  or  the  flats  and  dykes  of  Holland,  or  about 
the  Bass  Rock  and  the  Tolbooth  of  Scotland,  while  still 
another  found  its  way  to  the  bleak  coasts  of  the  Western 
wilderness  and  clasped  the  rock  made  sacred  by  the  feet 
of  the  Pilgrims — thus  making  ages  and  generations 
tributary  to  its  growth,  till  the  very  sap  of  the  tree 
seemed  the  commingled  life-blood  of  centuries,  and  the 


376  LIFE  LESSONS. 

fruit  it  bore  was  enriched  by  the  flavor  of  every  age  and 
clime.  Its  bark  is  the  sculptured  register  of  heroic 
names  and  deeds,  growing  larger  with  each  new  ring 
that  swells  the  giant  trunk.  We  may  read  upon  it 
names  like  those  of  Huss  and  Luther,  and  Calvin,  Wick- 
liffe  and  Knox,  Latiiner  and  Cranmer,  Cromwell  and 
Hampden,  Sidney  and  Russell,  Milton  and  Marvel,  nay, 
of  our  own  Elliotts  and  Winthrops,  and  Mathers  and  Ed- 
wardses  and  Hookers.  Ages  ago,  in  times  of  its  earlier 
feebler  growth,  God's  saints  knelt  beneath  its  shade,  and 
Puritan's  prayer  and  Covenanter's  song  echoed  through 
its  branches.  The  blasts  of  persecuting  power  wrestled 
in  vain  with  its  gnarled  strength.  The  scars  of  its  torn 
limbs  only  attest  its  triumphant  endurance,  and  in  each 
of  them  we  may  read  the  struggles  and  conflicts  through 
which  it  has  been  spared  to  cast  its  grateful  shadow 
about  our  favored  homes.  And  never  should  we  forget 
how  it  has  sheltered  us,  spreading  its  broad,  majestic 
arms  like  a  shield  over  tent  and  altar,  embowering  free- 
dom and  justice,  intellectual  and  moral  culture,  beneath 
its  genial  shade,  and  proving  itself  a  Tree  of  Life  in  the 
Eden  of  our  favored  lot. 

Who  can  look  thoughtfully  upon  it  without  feeling  a 
sort  of  homage  for  its  venerable  form  and  massive  trunk, 
or  having  his  heart  stirred  within  him  by  reminiscences 
of  its  earlier  prime ;  without  acknowledging  that  it  is 
Time's  memorial  of  the  good  and  brave,  planted  by  God's 
own  gracious  providence,  v/atered  by  prayer,  cultured  by 
self-denial,  and  fed  from  every  great  and  heroic  deed 
that  has  dropped  the  enriching  leaves  of  spent  endeavor 
thick  over  its  spreading  roots  ?  Who  can  properly  re- 
gard it  without  feeling  that  it  calls  upon  us  not  only  to 
cherish  the  memory  of  our  fathers,  but  to  lift  up  our 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES. 


377 


hearts  in  devout  thanksgiving  to  Him  who,  by  the  ante- 
cedent preparation  of  centuries,  qualified  them  and  their 
materials  for  what  they  were  to  accomplish,  and  then 
wrought  Himself  in  them  mightily  ? 

But  of  our  religious  privileges  it  is  preeminently  true 
that  they  have  been  bestowed  as  a  free  gift,  and  yet  their 
price  was  paid  by  the  self-denial  and  the  sufferings  of 
others.  They  come  from  the  Great  Giver,  but  they  come 
through  the  channels  of  human  endeavor  and  voluntary 
self-sacrifice.  We  have  entered  upon  the  inheritance  of 
others7  toil.  How  little  do  we  realize  in  its  enjoyment, 
how  much  it  has  cost!  We  have  the  Bible,  and  we  justly 
count  it  an  unspeakable  treasure  ;  yet  in  what  agony  of 
soul,  amid  what  prison  glooms,  what  sorrow  and  exile 
were  many  of  its  lines  written!  What  fidelity,  even 
unto  death,  has  guarded  the  sacred  trust !  what  fires  of 
persecution  have  been  kindled  around  it,  and  what  rivers 
of  blood  have  flowed  to  quench  those  fires !  The  hymns 
we  sing — how  many  of  them,  like  Henry  Kirke  White's 
"  Star  of  Bethlehem/'  have  been  coined  out  of  sighs  and 
groans,  and  tears,  the  inward  anguish  of  a  broken  and 
contrite  heart !  How  many  a  book  of  devotion,  like  a 
crushed  flower,  gives  forth  the  fragrance  of  a  soul  bruised 
under  the  strokes  of  affliction !  And  if  the  trampled  shell 
may  be  said  to  "  bleed  pearls/7  how  many  a  gem  of  piety 
and  hallowed  trust,  "  of  purest  ray  serene/7  that  sparkles 
upon  us  out  of  the  night  of  worldliness  and  sin,  has  been 
compacted  of  drops  from  the  wounds  of  sanctified  sorrow ! 
The  great  names  of  the  sainted  dead  that,  like  stars  in  the 
firmament  of  the  past,  cheer  the  twilight  of  a  journey  that 
will  end  with  the  everlasting  dawn,  are  largely  the  names 
of  those  who  "  have  passed  through  great  tribulation." 

Is  it  strange  that  the  ancient  Egyptians  in  the  blind- 


378  LIFE  LESSONS. 

ness  of  their  heathenism,  adored  their  river  Nilus  as  a 
God?  They  could  not  trace  it  to  its  source.  That 
source  was  hidden  far  away  in  a  region  which  human 
enterprise  had,  century  after  century,  vainly  attempted  to 
explore,  and  which  only  in  our  own  day  has  been  dis- 
covered to  the  world.  Yet  year  after  year,  this  wonder- 
ful stream,  ceaselessly  flowing,  brought  down  to  the  great 
valley,  with  its  periodical  overflow,  the  sediment  that  en- 
riched, and  the  waters  that  refreshed  the  parched  fields. 
And  is  there  not  another  Nile  on  the  banks  of  which 
we  dwell — a  Nile  more  wonderful  than  that,  the  origin 
of  which  was  so  long  unknown — one  that  brings  down 
to  us  with  each  returning  day,  instead  of  year,  blessings 
by  the  side  of  which  those  for  which  the  Egyptian  deified 
his  ancient  river,  are  but  straws  and  dust  ?  Our  Nile  is 
the  river  of  Christian  truth  and  privilege,  which  rolls  on 
by  our  doors,  that  current  in  which  are  combined  streams 
of  ancestral  blessing,  flowing  sometimes  from  hidden 
fountains  scattered  over  the  broad  tract  of  past  ages, 
sometimes  from  the  Bethels  and  Goshens,  and  juniper 
trees  and  caves  and  mountain  sides  of  which  we  read, 
where  holy  men  have  knelt  and  prayed  and  communed 
with  heaven.  On  and  on  they  flow,  till  the  fountain 
opened  on  Calvary  pours  forth  its  tide,  and  the  united 
streams  then,  like  the  ancient  Nilus,  become  a  river 
that  needs  no  other  tributary,  but  rolls  along  down  to  us 
its  golden  sands,  and  all  the  freightage  of  the  holy  ex- 
ample and  the  sanctified  experience  and  rich  harvests  of 
the  ages  of  Christian  endeavor  through  which  it  flows. 
Follow  along  its  track  now,  or  drift  upon  its  current,  and 
you  will  find  it  sweeping  by  the  side  of  scenes  of  glorious 
memories — funeral  piles  and  scaffolds,  and  the  prisons  of 
the  early  martyrs ;  along  the  valleys  lined  with  glens 


BLESSINGS  AND  DUTIES.  379 

and  caves  and  the  catacombs  that  cradled  and  sheltered 
the  infant  church  ;  along  scenes  of  exile  and  solitude 
where  God's  suffering  saints  could  wake  the  silence  of 
nature  with  prayer  and  song.  You  find  its  banks  lined 
with  the  most  memorable  scenes  of  history,  Pentecost, 
Patmos,  Nero's  prison,  the  Amphitheatre  that  rang  so 
often  with  "  the  Christians  to  the  lions  !  "  the  cells  where' 
the  Jeromes  and  Bedes  and  Bernards  in  days  of  darkness 
kept  fresh  in  the  world  the  spirit  of  devotion ;  the  old 
Bethlehem  church  at  Prague  where  Huss  preached  at  the 
risk  of  his  life  ;  Wittemberg  and  Geneva,  and  England's 
Smithfield,  fragrant  with  the  memory  of  the  martyrs  ; 
Spanish  autos  de  fe  the  blazing  fagots  of  which  told 
where  heaven  stooped  to  take  its  loved  ones  to  its  bosom  ; 
the  bleak  hills  of  the  Grisons,  where  Italian  exiles 
preached  the  Saviour  they  loved  ;  the  villages  of  the 
Albigenses  and  the  valleys  of  the  Waldenses — till  you 
feel  that  no  river  known  to  modern  exploration  or 
"  ancient  song  "  can  boast  such  magnificent  volume,  such 
historical  scenes,  such  inspiring  monuments,  as  this  glo- 
rious river  of  Christian  privilege,  "  the  streams  whereof 
make  glad  the  city  of  our  God." 

And  for  us  this  river  flows.  Down  to  our  age  does  it 
come  bearing  the  precious  bequest  of  all  the  generations 
that  have  gone  before.  They  have  labored  and  we  have 
entered  into  their  labors.  As  we  enter  upon  our  inheri- 
tance, realizing  what  it  cost,  who  does  not  feel  almost 
like  David  when  he  refused  the  draught  offered  him  from 
the  well  of  Bethlehem — asking  with  genuine  humanity, 
"  Is  not  this  the  blood  of  the  men  that  went  in  jeopardy 
of  their  lives  ?  "  Surely  we  tread  upon  hallowed  ground. 
Our  harvests  are  gathered  from  soil  that  has  been  watered 
by  patriot  blood.  The  ashes  of  martyrs  are  beneath  our 


380  LWtt  LESSONS. 

feet.  Our  most  precious  privileges  have  been  won  and 
guarded  and  transmitted  to  us  by  the  sleepless  vigilance 
of  those  who  have  fallen  in  their  defense. 

We  owe  to  them  a  vast  debt,  but  they  have  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  gratitude.  We  may  cherish 
their  memory,  we  may  build  their  monuments,  we  may 
charge  historian  and  poet  to  commemorate  their  fame, 
but  that  is  all ;  we  only  express  our  indebtedness,  we 
do  not  cancel  it ;  we  cannot.  But  is  there  not  one  for 
whom  they  were  instruments,  who  "  wrought  in  them 
mightily/3  who  made  them  simply  the  willing  distributors 
of  his  beneficence,  who  still  lives,  and  who  inherits  all 
their  claims  as  well  as  maintains  His  own  ? 

Most  assuredly  there  is  :  and  to  his  cause,  to  his  ser- 
vice, we  may  devote  our  energies  and  talents,  and  thus 
render  back,  not  what  we  owe,  but  the  testimonial  of 
our  gratitude.  And  shall  we  not  do  it  ?  Shall  we  not 
feel  that  in  such  a  world  as  this,  the  recipients  of  such 
privileges  as  ours  may  not  longer  live  to  themselves  ; 
that  selfishness  is  crime  ;  that  we,  the  heirs  of  the  past, 
hold  what  we  have  in  trust  for  generations  to  come  ? 

Ours  then  should  be  the  broadest  philanthropy,  the 
most  ready  and  cheerful  charity.  We  should  ever  ac- 
knowledge the  claims  of  the  Great  Giver  in  every  object 
of  hts  care  to  which  we  may  be  the  ministers  of  his 
bounty,  or  to  which  we  may  extend  the  privileges  pur- 
chased for  us  by  no  mercenary  hands  and  in  no  selfish 
spirit.  The  lessons  of  duty  which  are  read  to  us  from 
the  page  of  history,  urging  us  to  gratitude  by  the  bless- 
ings that  God's  servants  have  toiled  and  suffered  in  His 
name  to  procure  for  us,  are  properly  one  with  the  second 
great  Commandment  of  the  law  ?  "  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself." 


XXXIX. 

VALUE    OP    TIME. 

"  It  s  turned  as  clay  to  the  seal." — JOB  xxxviii.  14. 

AS  clay  to  the  seal,  so  light  is  said  to  fit  itself  to  the 
object  it  meets.  But  the  same  also  is  true  of 
time.  How  readily  it  takes  the  shape  we  give  it,  but, 
unlike  the  light,  it  keeps  it.  And  yet  the  business  of 
our  life  is  to  shape  time,  to  furnish  the  mould  to  which  it 
shall  adapt  itself.  A  good  man's  life  is  so  many  years 
moulded  into  the  forms  of  truth,  and  virtue,  and  religion. 
A  bad  man's  life  is  so  many  years  allowed  to  take  the 
distorted  shapes  of  sin.  Time  is  plastic  as  the  clay,  as 
the  light ;  and  yet,  when  once  shaped,  it  is  past  being  re- 
called to  be  shaped  again.  The  great  question  of  life  is, 
therefore,  how  shall  we  use  our  time  ;  how  shape  our 
years,  hours,  and  moments. 

To  answer  this  question  we  must  consider,  first,  the 
value  of  time  as  our  material  to  work  upon. 

Its  value  is  seen  first  from  the  fact  that  it  is  the  neces- 
sary material  of  life.  All  that  life  has  of  good,  or  great, 
or  valuable,  or  useful,  is  fashioned  out  of  it.  Time  is 
our  quarry.  Out  of  it  we  bring  the  well-spent  hour,  the 
well-spent  year,  the  well-spent  life.  Time  for  an  intelli- 
gent being,  is  the  equivalent  of  existence,  and  we  must 
estimate  it  by  the  capabilities  or  possibilities  which  it  in- 
volves ;  what  it  can  do  for  character,  virtue,  integrity, 

(381) 


382  LIFE  LESSONS. 

piety,  Christian  hope,  beneficence.  Who  can  tell  the 
value  of  these  ? 

Time  is  the  iron  in  the  mine.  What  shapes  you  can 
give  that  iron  !  You  can  melt,  and  mould  it  and  ham- 
mer it  into  a  thousand  implements,  from  the  nail  to  the 
steam-engine.  It  is  true  you  can  abuse  it.  You  can 
arm  the  soldier  with  it ;  give  him  spear,  and  dagger, 
and  cannon-ball  to  murder  with  on  a  magnificent  scale. 
But  what  could  you  accomplish  without  it  ?  It  is  the 
material  to  be  fashioned,  and  you  must  have  it,  or  you 
cannot  have  what  is  made  of  it.  So  with  time  ;  that,  too , 
is  liable  to  perversion.  Like  the  iron,  it  may  be  ham- 
mered into  that  which  is  useful  or  deadly,  but  without  it 
there  could  be  nothing  like  life  or  life's  deeds. 

Time  is  valuable,  again,  because  of  the  character  of 
what  you  can  fashion  out  of  it.  It  can  be  put  to  the 
most  valuable  shapes  and  uses.  The  iron  is  worth  more 
than  the  clay  ;  the  gold  more  than  the  iron  ;  time,  more 
than  all.  There  is  no  pearl  of  the  sea,  no  diamond  glit- 
tering in  the  mine,  that  can  be  cut  into  such  priceless  and 
sparkling  forms  of  beauty  as  these  hours  and  years. 
There  is  no  jewel  in  kingly  crown  that  shines  like  a  well- 
spent  hour  ;  none  whose  loss  is  worth  the  tears  which 
that  Roman  Emperor  Titus  shed  when  he  said,  "  I  have 
lost  a  day."  How  the  sculptor  exults  when  he  comes  in 
possession  of  a  block  of  the  finest  Parian  marble,  for  he 
is  thinking  what  his  chisel  can  make  of  it.  See  him 
examine  it.  He  looks  it  all  over.  He  sees  that  it  is  of 
the  finest  grain,  without  a  single  crack  or  flaw.  And 
yet  what  is  it  ?  A  rude,  unfashioned  block  of  stone  ; 
without  sense,  feature,  or  expression.  And  yet  out  of  that 
rude  mass  he  will  bring  a  noble  statue,  expression  glow- 
ing on  every  feature  ;  another  Washington,  or  another 


VALUE  OF  TIME.  383 

Webster,  till  the  marble  will  almost  speak.  So  the 
artist  values  that  rude  block,  and  the  world  gathers  to 
admire  what  he  has  brought  out  of  it.  But  time  is  a 
nobler  block  for  the  skill  of  a  higher  art.  No  sculptor's 
hand  ever  chiseled  on  the  marble  any  thing  more  than  the 
bare  image  and  shadow  of  that  impress  which  these 
years  can  be  made  to  bear.  It  is  for  you  to  make  the 
artist's  ideal  a  reality  ;  it  is  for  you  to  touch  his  marble 
and  make  it  live  and  breathe  ;  it  is  for  you  to  make  his 
fancy  fact,  and  his  imagination  truth  ;  it  is  for  you  to 
take  his  loftiest  ideal  of  what  is  great,  and  good,  and 
pure,  and  make  it  live  in  time. 

Would  you  know  the  value  of  the  marble  ?  See  what 
has  been  fashioned  out  of  it.  See  how  human  skill  has 
brought  out  the  image  of  whatever  the  world  has  seen 
of  great,  or  good,  or  noble.  Would  you  know  the  value 
of  time  ?  See  the  lives  of  Christian  men  that  have  been 
cut  out  of  it.  Less  than  seventy  years  made  a  Paul,  a 
Payson,  a  Baxter,  an  Edwards.  Think  of  that  noblest 
gallery  of  art,  the  great  assembly  of  the  spirits  of  just 
men  made  perfect — every  one  of  them  a  model,  every 
one  of  them  fashioned  to  the  divine  image.  And  what 
is  all  other  wealth  ;  'what'other  treasures  of  art  by  the  side 
of  this  ?  A  holy  life,  in  the  sight  of  God,  is  of  inestima- 
ble value.  It  is  the  only  true  wealth  ;  and  if  you  can 
bring  it  out  of  the  seventy  years  of  existence,  what 
must  the  material  of  these  years  be  worth  ?  A  cup  of 
cold  water  given  in  the  name  of  a  disciple  shall  not  lose 
its  reward  ;  and  how  many  thousand  times  may  it,  or 
something  like  it,  be  repeated?  Out  of  one  hour  you 
may  bring  forth  some  feature  of  penitence,  or  faith,  or 
charity,  or  hope.  What  out  of  a  year  ?  what  out  ol  life  ? 

The  value  of  time,  too,  is  seen  in  the  permanence  of  its 


384  LIFE  LESSONS. 

results.  You  may  stamp  it  as  you  can  the  wax  or  the 
clay,  but  the  stamp  made,  the  impression  lasts  forever. 
You  can  mould  your  days  and  years  at  will,  but  once 
moulded,  they  are  fixed  for  eternity.  A  thing  done  is 
"  cut  with  a  pen  of  iron  and  the  point  of  a  diamond  ;  it 
is  graven  on  the  rock  forever."  The  marble  may 
crumble,  the  mountains  melt,  the  earth  burn  to  a  cinder, 
but  that  deed  outlives  the  final  conflagration.  How  plas- 
tic time  is  on  our  hands.  Like  the  clay  pressed  upon 
the  seal,  like  the  light  laying  itself  upon  every  object,  so 
time  fits  itself  to  our  every  will.  We  can  make  what 
we  will  of  it ;  we  can  pour  it,  like  the  molten  iron,  into 
what  mould  we  please ;  the  mighty  thing  shapes  itself 
to  our  thought.  It  lays  itself  upon  the  face  of  our  mind 
and  fits  itself  to  every  feature.  Not  an  atom,  not  a  hair 
fails  of  its  imprint.  And  how  that  imprint  lasts  ! 
Ages  do  not  corrode  a  fragment  or  a  trace.  What  would 
a  sculptor  give  for  such  a  piece  of  marble  ?  He  works 
hard  and  long  on  the  hard  stone  to  bring  it  into  shape, 
and,  when  shaped,  how  the  ages  crumble  it,  turn  it  into 
a  pile  of  dust !  A  careless  hand  knocks  off  one  feature 
or  another,  and  the  mutilated  thing  is  thrown  among  the 
rubbish.  But  time  is  not  like  the  marble  ;  what  it  takes 
it  keeps — its  statues  are  immortal. 

But  time  is  a  valuable  material,  because  what  we  bring 
out  of  it  is  our  own,  and  ours  forever.  It  is  something 
that  we  shall  carry  with  us  when  time  itself  is  no  more. 
Time's  offspring  shall  outlive  its  sire.  The  image  of  our 
life  hewn  out  of  these  years  is  our  living  self,  our 
character,  our  conscious  being — every  deed  or  thought 
that  has  gone  to  make  up  what  we  are.  This  is  the  true 
wealth — what  a  man  is  in  himself ;  all  else  is  but  trap- 
pings, smoke,  show.  His  gold  and  silver,  houses  and 


VALUE  OF  TIME.  385 

lands,  are  only  the  dust  on  the  lid  that  coyers  the  treas- 
ure of  himself.  They  are  foreign  to  him.  They  are 
as  his  only  for  the  hour  ;  his  to  weigh  him  down,  per- 
haps ;  his  as  Pilgrim's  burden  was,  till  he  reached  the 
cross.  They  are  put  into  his  hands  just  for  a  day,  that 
it  may  be  seen  what  he  may  do  with  them,  whether  he 
will  make  a  plaything  or  an  implement  of  labor  out  of 
them.  But  they  are  foreign  to  his  true  treasure.  They 
are  not  his  as  his  deeds  and  character  are  ;  they  are  not 
his  as  his  life  is,  inseparable  from  his  being.  The  rich 
man  crosses  the  threshold  of  the  grave,  and,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  becomes  a  beggar  ;  begs  for  a 
drop  of  cold  water,  too  poor  to  buy  it.  The  beggar  goes, 
too,  but  he  looks,  perhaps,  to  the  eternal  throne,  God's 
heir,  and  says,  "  My  Father."  The  man  that  owns  a 
gold  mine  is  not  rrch  for  it ;  the  man  that  owns  the 
world  is  not  rich  for  it.  Perhaps  he  does  not  own  his 
own  soul ;  he  has  lost  it,  and  the  Devil  holds  the  title- 
deed,  and  what  is  he  without  it  ?  But  the  man  that  owns 
the  quarry  of  time  may  be  rich.  He  may  bring  up  the 
hours  and  days  rich  with  beneficence  and  piety,  every 
one  worth  more  than  a  thousand  ingots  of  gold.  And 
they  will  be  his  when  every  thing  else,  even  his  body, 
feeds  the  worm.  He  will  take  them  with  him,  to  death, 
to  the  judgment,  to  heaven,  to  the  throne  of  God.  No 
one  shall  tear  them  away.  The  deed  I  have  done  is  mine 
forever.  You  may  steal  my  hoards,  you  may  burn  my 
dwelling,  you  may  rob  me  of  my  limbs,  you  may  chase 
this  tenant-spirit  out  of  its  poor  crumbling  dwelling,  and 
leave  it  no  home  in*  the  flesh  ;  but  there  is  a  wealth  that 
I  shall  carry  with  me,  not  wrapped  in  napkins,  not  stored 
in  safes,  for  that  deed  is  mine  ;  all  that  I  have  hewn 
out  of  time's  quarry  will  go  with  me  •  the  things  I  have 
17 


3  86  LIFE  LE8SON8. 

done,  the  experience  that  has  measured  out  my  years. 
Those  deeds  of  generosity,  or  self-denial,  or  faith,  or  pen- 
itence, or  prayer,  are  my  true  wealth,  and  all  else  is 
clay.  They  may  have  been  done  for  others,  but  still 
they  are  mine  ;  mine  when  I  die,  mine  when  I  am  judged, 
mine  forever.  They  are  a  part  and  parcel  of  my  own 
being  ;  they  have  grown  into  my  immortal  life  ;  they  are 
the  elements  of  my  soul,  the  features  of  my  spirit.  They 
beat  in  every  pulse  of  thought,  and  feeling  and  hope ; 
they  are  threads  in  the  white  angel  robe,  leaves  of  the 
palms  that  God  keeps  for  me  in  heaven.  Death  will  not 
despoil  me  of  them.  He  will  take  the  rags  and  dust  that 
were  ready  to  drop  off.  But  of  the  righteous  it  is  said, 
"  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord,  yea,  saith 
the  Spirit,  for  they  rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works 
do  follow  them.77  I  shall  then  be  rich  in  God. 

What  a  mine  of  wealth  to  work  them  is  that  of  time ! 
What  unspeakable  treasures  are  hid  in  these  unexplored 
years ;  what  inconceivable  heights  and  degrees  of  blessed- 
ness ;  what  after  memories  of  holy  living  and  beneficent 
action ;  what  riches  of  penitence,  humility  and  love ! 
And  of  all  that  we  quarry  out  of  this  mine,  nothing  shall 
be  lost,  not  a  grain,  not  a  fragment. 

The  value  of  time  as  material  is  seen  again  from  the 
fact  that  it  is  never  given  but  once,  and  consequently, 
when  lost,  can  never  be  regained.  God  never  gives  the 
same  moment  twice.  His  dealing  with  us — His  provi- 
dence says,  "  Use  it  now  or  never.77  You  can  do  as  you 
like,  but  here  is  the  alternative.  It  will  never  come 
again.  What  a  value  does  this  give  to  a  thing,  to  have 
written  on  it  "  Now  or  never  !77  How  do  we  call  the  time 
of  securing  it  the  golden  moment !  It  would  be  less 
valuable  if  we  could  make  it  wait  on  our  leisure.  But 


VALUE  OF  TIME.  387 

time  is  not  like  silver  that  we  can  lay  it  by,  and  keep  it  till 
time  of  need.  It  must  be  used  when  given.  It  is  like  the 
manna  that  must  be  gathered  in  time,  and  not  be  stored  up. 

But  more  than  this,  when  gone,  there  is  no  recalling 
it.  Ask  the  fled  year  to  come  back.  Will  it?  Call 
aloud  for  one  of  its  privileges,  one  of  its  hours  of  mercy. 
Will  it  return?  As  well  stand  by  the  grave  and  summon 
out  of  its  coffin  one  of  death's  prisoners.  That  year  is 
gone  and  will  come  no  more.  You  might  redeem  a  cap- 
tive, but  "  the  redemption  of  the  soul,"  of  time,  "  is  pre- 
cious, and  it  ceaseth  forever."  There  is  no  opportunity 
to  barter  it  back.  Mines  hold  no  equivalent,  treasuries 
no  wealth  that  can  bribe  it  into  your  hands. 

What  would  not  men  sometimes  give  for  a  lost  oppor- 
tunity !  Even  in  a  worldly  point  of  view  it  is  priceless. 
See  that  man  that  has  been  thrust  into  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  of  manhood,  without  good  habits,  without 
education — without  a  distinct  aim  or  a  fixed  character ! 
He  sees  his  error  now,  but  it  is  too  late.  Oh,  if  youth 
would  come  back  again !  Oh,  if  he  might  but  live  those 
years  over !  He  would  give  the  Indies,  if  he  had  them. 
He  would  pawn  an  empire,  if  he  owned  it  They  seem 
the  only  valuable  thing  that  he  ever  had,  and  they  are 
squandered.  They  are  his  lost  birth-right.  He  is  an- 
other Esau.  Oh,  if  there  were  but  a  place  for  repent- 
ance !  But  there  is  none.  He  is  a  beggared  bankrupt. 
He  feels  it  when  too  late — the  martyr  of  a  lost  oppor- 
tunity ;  the  victim  of  his  own  lie,  when  he  said  "Youth  is 
rich  in  time." 

9 

"  Youth  is  not  rich  in  time,  it  may  be  poor ; 
Part  with  it  as  with  money,  sparing.     Pay 
j  No  moment  but  in  purchase  of  its  worth ; 

And  what  its  worth,,  ask  death-beds ;  they  can  telL" 


388  LIFE  LESSONS. 

If  any  thing  were  wanting  to  set  the  seal  on  the  value  of 
time,  it  is  this,  that  its  loss  is  irrevocable.  There,  on  his 
solitary  island,  is  the  poor  shipwrecked  sailor.  Years 
ago,  after  his  misfortune,  there  passed  a  vessel  that  might 
have  rescued  him,  but  he  lit  no  signal  fire.  How  many 
times  since  has  he  thought  what  that  hour  was  worth ! 
You  may  be  that  poor,  forlorn  object,  if  you  let  the  hour 
of  probation  go. 

Thus  we  see  time's  value.  It  is  the  material  of  life. 
It  is  the  most  noble  of  all  material  to  work.  No  mine 
is  so  rich  or  abundant.  Its  results  last.  They  are  eter- 
nal. What  we  draw  from  it  is  our  own,  and  ours  for- 
ever— the  only  thing  that  is,  and  when  lost,  it  can  never 

be  recovered. 

\ 

But  what  is  the  skill  necessary  to  improve  time — to 
work  this  mine,  if  you  please,  or  shape  this  material? 
Certainly,  it  calls  for  all  the  wisdom  and  skill  that  man 
has — for  it  is  work  of  the  highest,  and  holiest,  and 
gravest  art. 

Time  is  not  like  clay  that  a  careless  hand  may  mould 
and  crush,  and  no  damage  be  done.  You  cannot  gather 
this  up  again  and  put  it  on  the  wheel.  It  is  not  like  the 
iron,  that  can  be  taken  out  of  the  imperfect  mould,  and 
put  into  the  furnace,  and  so  re-cast.  It  is  not  like  the 
marble,  its  fractured  mass  replaced  by  a  new  block.  It 
is  not  like  gold,  the  value  of  which  can  be  weighed  by 
ounces.  It  stands  alone  among  earth's  treasures,  far  above 
them  all.  It  should  be  dealt  with  by  a  wise  and  careful 
hand.  What  would  the  sculptor  think  to  see  a  rude 
blunderer  pounding  away  with  his  sledge-hammer  at  a 
noble  block  which  he  had  destined  for  the  material  of  his 
master-piece?  How  indignantly  would  he  reprove  such 


VALUE  OF  TIME.  389 

ignorance  and  folly !  What  madness,  he  would  say,  to 
batter  and  deform  such  noble  material  I  What  spirit  of 
devastation  and  vandalism  could  induce  to  the  deed? 
And  yet  what  is  the  blunderer  on  marble  to  the  blunderer 
on  time,  carelessly  dashing  off  the  parts  that  might  be 
shaped  into  the  full  proportions  of  a  perfect  frame  ?  Is 
the  man  that  lives  for  God  and  heaven  to  live  with  less 
reflection,  and  act  with  less  care  in  the  improvement  of 
time  than  the  artist  bestows  upon  his  stone?  The 
highest  artist  of  all  is  he  who  fashions  forms  of  beau- 
ty, and  truth,  and  love.  All  other  art  is  poor  and  beg- 
garly by  the  side  of  this.  Yet  go  into  the  sculptor's 
studio  and  see  him  at  his  work.  He  toils  for  hours,  all 
absorbed  in  his  task,  and  seems  scarcely  to  have  moved 
a  muscle.  You  look  and  see  how  carefully  he  uses  his 
chisel.  Here  a  mere  grain,  and  there  a  grain,  like  an 
atom  of  dust,  is  removed.  Hours  pass,  and  you  cannot 
see  that  he  has  accomplished  any  thing.  The  unpractised 
eye  can  perceive  no  change.  But,  a  few  months  hence, 
that  product  of  his  skill  will  be  the  envy  of  kings  and 
courts.  Oh,  man,  thou  sculptor  of  time,  the  artist  re- 
proves thee !  Will  he  deal  so  carefully  with  the  cold 
stone,  and  will  you  abandon  to  neglect  and  a  rude  hand 
that  material  which  God  has  given,  that  with  more  than 
Zeuxis7  boast  you  may  say  "  I  work  for  eternity  ?" 

That  artist  gave  toil  and  study  under  the  best  masters 
to  gain  his  skill,  before  he  put  his  hand  to  that  master- 
piece. You  have  not  taken  your  first  lesson  of  the  Great 
Master,  perhaps.  You  have  not  comprehended  the  first 
problem  in  the  book  of  life.  And  yet  you  take  hold  of 
this  precious,  unspeakably  precious  material,  as  you  might 
of  clay  or  earth  ;  you  put  it  in  all  sorts  of  distorted 
shapes  ;  you  carelessly  knock  off  the  fragments  of  days 


390 


LIFE  LE8SONS. 


and  years  that  you  need  to  fill  out  the  proportions  of  a 
perfect  life.  To  make  the  whole  mass  of  your  years  the 
plaything  of  your  fancy  or  your  pleasure,  you  scarce 
ever  ask,  "  What  is  that  noble  thing  that  I  can  bring  out 
of  them  ?"  You  show,  it  may  be,  no  anxiety  to  leave 
them  behind  in  any  other  shape  than  a  pile  of  rubbish. 

But  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  without  study  and  effort, 
the  highest  results  of  a  hallowed  ambition  will  ever  be 
realized?  What  is  gained  without  effort?  What  is 
worth  gaining  ?  What  man  floats  to  his  goal  ?  Every- 
where men  put  forth  skill  and  science  and  muscle.  Great 
men  are  great  workers  ;  holy  men  are. 

Toil  and  attainment  are  almost  identical.  The  scholar, 
the  artist,  the  merchant,  all  strive  if  they  gain.  Shall 
the  greatest  boon — the  greatest  wealth  of  life,  be  ours 
by  indolence  ? 

What  is  it  then  that  is  needed  to  make  the  most  of 
time  ?  Skill,  toil,  wisdom,  in  no  common  measure !  And 
what  skill,  what  wisdom  ?  That  of  the  man  who  piles 
his  heaps  of  wealth  highest  ?  That  of  him  who  can  in- 
trigue most  successfully?  That  of  the  man  who  can 
absorb  the  most  philosophy  ?  That  of  the  man  who  can 
spice  life  with  the  greatest  variety  of  pleasure  ?  No  !  it 
is  none  of  these.  It  is  that  skill,  that  wisdom  that  is 
taught  in  the  school  of  Christ,  that  can  tell  heaven's  true 
coin  from  its  counterfeit,  that  can  appreciate  the  true 
worth  of  life,  that  can  know,  in  fact,  how  to  live.  To 
have  that  skill  you  must  have  the  help  and  teaching  of 
God — the  great  almighty  artist  himself  must  instruct 
you.  You  must  come  to  His  word  and  there  discover, 
what  time  is  worth  to  the  heir  of  eternity,  what  proba- 
tion is  given  for,  and  how  the  flying  moments  can  be 
made  winged  messengers  to  carry  the  treasures  of  a  holy 


VALUE  OF  TIME. 


391 


life  for  you  up  to  God's  throne  and  store  them  there. 
You  must  find  the  die  to  stamp  the  hours  with,  that  will 
stamp  their  true  value  ;  you  must  know  what  your  work 
is  on  earth  as  a  sinner  in  God's  sight,  bound  to  the  judg- 
ment, with  mercy  possible  through  a  Saviour,  with  a  day 
of  grace  hasting  to  its  close,  with  a  dying  world  around 
to  be  led  by  your  words  and  deeds  to  the  gates  of  life. 

And  then  to  all  this  knowledge,  must  be  added  application 
and  effort.  All  your  years  will  be  a  dead  loss  without  it. 
No  man  has  ever  proved  time's  value,  but,  like  holy  men, 
he  has  wrestled  and  striven.  Let  time  take  its  own  course, 
let  the  years  go  as  they  may,  and  they  will  never  float  you 
to  heaven.  You  must  watch  with  the  rudder  in  your 
hand.  The  Great  Pilot  said,  "  Watch  and  pray !"  The 
Apostle  said  give  diligence  to  make  your  calling  and 
election  sure ! 

And  once  more,  what  is  done  must  be  done  quickly. 
Time  admits  of  no  delay.  He  will  not  wait  neglected 
at  the  door.  You  cannot  put  him  off  as  you  do  others. 
Each  moment  comes  and  knocks,  and  if  you  open  not, 
goes  his  way,  and  is  seen  no  more  till  in  the  judgment, 
he  stands  up  and  says,  "  You  slighted  me." 

Surely ,  our  responsibility  for  the  use  of  time  is  great 
and  fearful.  It  is  a  solemn  and  weighty  trust.  It  is 
even  a  terrible  thing  to  live.  Years  of  existence  in  a 
world  where  we  may  hew  those  years  into  a  staircase  to 
heaven,  are  of  untold  value.  What  a  man  does  with 
them  is  an  immense  matter  of  concern,  to  himself,  to  men, 
to  angels,  to  God.  An  eternity  hangs  upon  it.  A  judg- 
ment will  be  decided  by  it. 

The  results  of  a  right  use  of  time  will  be  immensely 
glorious.  Only  see  what  they  are  on  earth.  Even  in 
the  short  span  of  human  life,  see  what  some  men  have 


392  LIFE  LESSONS. 

become.  They  have  made  time  a  vast  mine  out  of  which 
they  have  brought  all  the  treasures  of  cultivated  intel- 
lect, of  hallowed  piety,  of  generous  and  self-denying 
benevolence.  They  have  built  themselves  up  by  the  grace 
of  God,  "to  the  stature  of  a  perfect  man  in  Christ 
Jesus."  They  have  walked  the  earth  they  blessed,  ma- 
jestic to  all  ages,  in  the  consciousness  of  highest  and 
holiest  aspirations,  divine  patterns  before  men.  We 
wreath  their  names  with  blessing.  We  bless  God  that 
they  lived.  There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  beautiful,  so 
grand,  so  lovely  as  finished  Christian  character,  radiant 
with  every  virtue,  featured  after  the  divine  image.  Go 
to  the  grandest  works  of  human  skill  and  art,  the  piles 
of  a  magnificent  architecture,  the  temples  that  were  the 
work  of  centuries,  the  galleries  of  painting  and  sculpture 
rich  with  works  of  earthly  immortality,  and  what  are 
all  those  dead  things  to  the  magnificent  temple  of  the 
human  soul,  on  whose  front  broadly  traced  is  read  the 
plain  inscription,  "  God  dwells  within  ?" 

But  the  results  of  an  abuse  of  time  are  terrible.  You 
see  this  even  on  earth.  Pile  up  all  the  epithets  of  misery 
that  human  language  possesses,  and  they  are  nothing  but 
an  inch  measure  to  the  mountain  of  guilt  and  woe  that 
abused  time  flings  on  the  remorseful,  agonizing  soul  of 
the  confirmed  transgressor.  A  hardened  heart — harder 
than  the  nether  millstone — that  the  love  of  Calvary  can- 
not melt,  nor  the  thunderings  of  Sinai  rend,  is  made  in 
a  less  space  than  seventy  years.  No  plummet  of  human 
thought  can  fathom  the  untold  depths  of  misery  which  is 
reached  sometimes  in  life's  short  span.  The  hideous  and 
devilish  features  of  a  Herod  or  a  Nero  are  cut  for 
eternity  by  the  chiselings  of  a  few  short  years.  What 
images  of  distortion  and  enormous  crime  rise  up  out  of 


VALUE  OF  TIME. 


393 


the  graveyard  of  the  past  at  the  mention  of  some  names 
that  were  once  the  names  of  men !  As  they  start  up 
around  us  we  seem  to  be  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
sculpture  gallery  of  hell.  The  imprint  of  Satanic  art  on 
every  feature  speaks  the  terrible  skill  with  which  the 
great  master  can  imbue  his  disciples.  And  all  reaches 
its  horrid  perfection  in  less  than  three-score  years  and 
ten  !  In  so  short  a  time  the  character  is  fixed  like  the 
iron  cooled  in  the  mould,  to  hold  forever  its  flawed  and 
distorted  shape.  There  may  be  only  that  short  space 
between  the  awful  result  and  the  light,  thoughtless  inno- 
cence of  the  child  that  plays  to-day  about  your  hearth- 
stone. 

The  hour  to  begin  to  improve  time  should  be  the  ear- 
liest possible.  Delay  is  madness,  folly,  suicide.  Many  a 
man  converted  in  his  later  years  feels  sadly  that  his  life 
is  but  a  fragment.  And  how  many  want  even  that  frag- 
ment I 


17* 


XL. 

WASTED    TIME. 

"  Redeeming  the  Time." — EPH.  v.  16. 

*t  m  yriLLIONS  of  money  for  an  inch  of  time,"  ex- 
1VA  claimed  Elizabeth,  the  gifted  but  ambitious 
Queen  of  England,  on  her  dying  bed.  Unhappy  woman  ! 
Reclining  on  her  couch,  with  ten  thousand  dresses  in  her 
wardrobe,  a  kingdom  at  her  feet — but  all  now  valueless — 
she  shrieks  in  anguish,  but  in  vain,  for  an  inch  of  time. 
Her  three-score  years  and  ten  are  gone,  and  an  empire 
cannot  buy  one  moment  back.  It  is  too  late. 

What  an  impressive  lesson !  How  significant  alike  to 
queens  and  beggars,  to  princes  and  subjects  !  What  is  to 
be  done,  must  be  done  while  time  is  ours.  And  if  we 
linger,  like  the  beggared  queen,  we  may  wait  too  long. 
To  waste  time  is  to  store  up  remorse.  To  yield  it  to  sin, 
is  spiritual  suicide. 

Time  may  be  sadly  abused !  It  is  like  a  blank  check. 
One  man  may  twist  it  up  to  light  a  taper,  and  another 
with  the  patient  fingers  of  toil  and  duty  may  trace  upon 
it  lettering  that  will  make  it  current  for  uncounted  gold. 
It  is  like  a  painter's  canvas,  on  which  you  may  portray 
a  man  or  a  reptile,  a  John  or  a  Judas.  It  is  the  warp 
of  life,  into  which  you  may  weave  threads  of  shoddy  or 
threads  of  gold.  Waste  time,  and  it  matters  little  what 

(394) 


WASTED  TIME.  395 

else  you  economize.  Spendthrift  of  this,  you  are  bank- 
rupt forever.  The  practical  wisdom  of  this  life  is  to 
discern  its  value  and  use  it  well.  Those  years  when  we 
can  earn  the  least  are  often  most  precious.  The  hours  of 
childhood  trace  the  features  of  manhood,  and  sow  the 
harvests  of  age.  Wasted  days  are  often  like  broken* 
links  in  the  chain  of  life,  leaving  it  to  fall  into  useless 
heaps  of  rusty  iron.  A  neglected  opportunity  of  study 
sends  one  that  might  have  been  a  Paley  or  a  Brougham 
down  to  the  ranks  of  ignoble  indolence  or  toilsome  drudg- 
ery. Declining  a  calling  or  a  business  that  demands 
energy  may  prove  the  momentary  mistake  that  expands 
with  years,  till  it  casts  the  whole  life  in  shadow.  To 
seize  the  right  moment,  or  to  put  every  moment  to  its  right 
use,  constitutes  the  grand  strategy  of  life's  campaign. 

How  many  thousands  yet  in  the  vigor  of  life  can  go 
backr  in  memory,  to  hours  which  they  would  give  bitter 
tears  to  recall !  But  those  hours  are  beyond  recovery  ! 
There  is  no  redemption  for  them.  The  past,  more  re- 
lentless than  the  grave,  never  gives  up  its  dead.  There 
is  no  resurrection  of  a  wasted  privilege.  The  "hours  that 
folly  has  imprisoned  never  come  back,  except  in  haunt- 
ing memories,  from  the  vaults  of  darkness.  Summer 
birds  migrate  back  and  forth  with  the  seasons  ;  but  the 
flying  moment  never  turns  back,  but  hastens  on  with  its 
record  to  the  bar  of  God.  Spring  will  clothe  the  dead 
earth  with  new  life,  but  the  dead  year  never  blooms 
again.  You  may  advertise  for  lost  moments,  but  none 
ever  answered  the  advertisement  of  a  "  lost  day."  The 
time  that  has  fled,  is  irrevocable  for  evermore. 

It  is  this  fact  that  helps  to  invest  it  with  such  unutter- 
able value.  It  cannot  be  exchanged  or  transferred,  or  re- 
deemed, or  retained.  You  may  pawn  it  for  a  toy,  but  the 


LESSONS. 

treasuries  of  Kings  will  not  pay  its  ransom.  You  may  fling 
it  into  the  abyss  of  folly,  as  you  would  a  pebble  into  the 
sea,  but  all  the  drag-nets  of  human  art  can  never  bring  it 
back.  Like  the  key  that  might  have  unlocked  the  iron 
safe  stored  with  treasure — it  is  thrown  away,  and  no 
Chubb  or  Hobbs  can  devise  its  duplicate. 

There  are  some  crowded  graveyards  where  coffin  has 
been  piled  on  coffin,  till  the  first  buried  seems  trebly 
buried.  So  it  is  with  the  crowded  graveyard  of  our 
years.  Those  years  will  never  be  ours  again.  All  that 
we  can  do  is  to  plant  the  flowers  of  memory  over  their 
dust,  and  yet  every  flower  will  wither  or  change  to  a 
thorn  if  its  roots  strike  down  to  the  dust,  of  years  of  folly 
and  of  sin. 

Such  considerations  as  these  forbid  every  thoughtful 
man  to  trifle  with  time,  to  jest  it  away,  or  heedlessly 
surrender  it  at  fashion's  or  fancy's  call.  It  is  one  of 
those  few  possessions  which  are  granted  us,  which  make 
all  the  show  and  glitter  which  distinguish  the  rich  from 
the  poor,  and  the  peer  from  the  peasant,  of  but  small  ac- 
count. Masters  of  time,  rightful  owners  by  the  rightful 
use  of  it,  we  are  more  than  the  lords  of  acres.  Rich  in 
time,  by  hoarding  the  moments  in  duty  done,  one  may 
look  down  on  Rothschilds  and  Astors.  This  is  our 
princeliest  heritage  and  most  precious  capital.  We  can 
invest  it  in  industry,  study,  application,  charity.  We 
can  carve  the  hours  into  deeds  which  our  children  shall 
bless.  We  can  build  up  the  years  into  well  executed 
plans  of  beneficence  and  devotion,  holy  temples  of  the 
heart  within  which  the  sacred  presence  of  the  Spirit  shall 
abide. 

But  it  is  as  related  to  eternity  that  time  assumes  its 
highest  value.  This  is  our  probationary  state.  As  the 


WASTED  TIME. 


397 


fleeting  days  of  childhood  give  shape  to  manhood  and 
its  destinies,  so  the  years  of  time  shape  the  eternal  future 
of  the  soul.  How  insignificant  seem  the  little  grains  of 
sand !  Yet  you  see  them  heaped  up  and  framed  to  be- 
come the  mould  in  which  the  molten  iron  is  poured.  So 
with  the  grains  of  time.  Whether  you  design  it  or  not, 
you  are  turning  them  into  the  mould  in  which  liquid 
thought,  feeling  and  purpose  crystallize,  till  they  are 
like  the  iron  or  the  granite.  A  wasted,  squandered  day 
is  not  simply  so  much  reduction  of  spiritual  existence  and 
activity.  It  is  a  flaw  in  the  mould.  Its  imprint  on  the 
character  is  imperfection  and  deformity.  Years  of  sin 
are  not  simply  so  much  offset  against  the  balance  of  a  re- 
formed life.  They  are  such  a  portion  of  the  mould  itself 
broken  up. 

Bend  the  twig  and  you  incline  the  tree.  One  moment's 
pressure  on  the  sapling  may  do  more  to  injure  it  or  shape 
it,  than  tempests  in  after  years.  No  arithmetic  can  com- 
pute the  results  that  must  flow  from  an  error  now.  Each 
of  these  moments  may  be  the  pivot  on  which  a  world  to 
come  is  poised.  Thousands  in  the  agonies  of  despair 
have  been  able  to  look  back  to  some  critical  juncture, 
some  memorable  moment,  on  the  issue  of  which  the  scope 
of  after  years  depended.  There,  just  at  that  point,  a 
single  moment  seems  like  the  turning  point  of  destiny. 
It  might  have  opened  the  door  to  hope  and  heaven.  It 
might  have  been  made  the  gateway  to  eternal  blessed- 
ness. It  might  have  been  the  first  round  of  a  Jacob's 
ladder.  It  might  have  marked  the  point  where,  turning 
on  his  track,  the  penitent  sinner  should  have  been  greeted 
by  that  gratulation  of  angels  over  the  new-born  soul — 
"  behold  he  prayeth." 

Is  such  a  moment  precious  ?     Who  would  run  the  risk 


398  LIFE  LESSONS. 

of  flinging  it  away  like  chaff,  of  dissolving  such  a  jewel 
in  the  wine  cup,  or  leaving  it  to  swell  the  rubbish  of  a 
wasted  life?  Such  a  moment  comes  to  all.  It  marks 
the  crisis  of  the  soul's  destiny.  To  you  it  may  have  come 
to-day,  and  it  may  never  come  again.  Yet  every  moment 
that  leads  to  it,  or  draws  it  on,  is  also  precious.  Each 
day  is  preparing  you  for  it,  to  use  it  or  abuse  it.  These 
tickings  of  the  clock,  these  beatings  of  the  pulse,  these 
noiseless  swingings  of  the  pendulum  of  time,  hasten  the 
striking  of  the  hour  of  doom.  The  impression  of  every 
scene,  of  every  lesson,  of  every  folly  is  pushing  you  on 
to  some  decision — whether  you  will  serve  God  or  not, 
whether  you  will  consecrate  your  life  to  its  true  end  or 
not.  On,  on  rolls  the  tide  of  hours,  days  and  years, 
swifter  and  stronger  in  current,  setting  more  resistless 
toward  the  cataract.  Moment  flows  into  moment,  melts 
into  the  mass  and  is  lost  to  view,  but  every  drop  swells 
the  flood  that  bears  you  on — that  presses  you  to  the  final 
issue. 

And  then  think  of  wasted  time — for  all  is  wasted,  so 
long  as  the  great  end  of  life  is  overlooked.  What  are 
feasts  and  fortunes  and  honors,  if  God  is  not  glorified  ? 
What  is  all  industry,  if  you  give  not  diligence  to  make 
your  calling  and  election  sure  ?  What  is  all  business,  if 
you  are  never  busy  for  God,  never  busy  to  lay  up  treasure 
in  heaven?  The  sands  of  the  desert  are  barren,  but 
what  is  their  curse  to  that  of  the  time-grains  of  a  life 
given  over  to  vanity,  frivolity  arid  sin?  Over  this 
Sahara-waste  sweep  the  burning  blasts  of  remorse.  Over 
it  no  fragrance  breathes,  within  it  no  flowers  bloom. 
Only  the  life  that  is  devoted  to  God,  that  breathes  in 
prayer  and  exults  in  praises,  that  garners  the  hours  and 
coins  them  all  with  the  stamp  of  duty,  with  the  image 


WASTED  TIME.  399 

and  superscription  of  their  great  proprietor — only  such  a 
life  is  worthy  the  name.  Any  other  is  but  a  living  death. 
Any  other  is  but  the  slow  steady  deliberate  murder  of 
time — the  sacrifice  of  probation  and  privilege  on  the 
altar  of  mammon  or  lust. 

How  long  then  before  you  will  begin  truly  to  live  ? 
An  uncertain  future  makes  a  day,  an  hour,  too  long  to 
wait.  And  even  if  the  future  was  certain,  it  would  be 
madness  to  live  any  part  of  it  in  a  course  of  deeds  that 
we  shall  want  undone.  Undone  !  It  cannot  be.  Tears 
cannot  wash  the  past  out.  It  is  cut  in  the  rock  forever. 
There  stands  the  soul's  changeless  image.  You  cannot 
re-form,  or  new  model,  or  correct  it.  Suppose  it  is  a  Jug- 
gernaut, a  Mammon,  a  Gallileo,  a  Simon  Magus !  Will  it 
do  to  wait  till  it  becomes  such  before  you  begin  to  mould 
and  shape  your  years  to  save  them  from  such  perversion  7 

You  will  find  it  a  hard,  an  almost  hopeless  task, 

"To  improve  the  remnant  of  your  wasted  span, 
And  having  lived  a  trifler,  die  a  man." 

<(  'Tis  well  if  looked  for  at  so  late  a  day, 
In  the  last  scene  of  such  a  senseless  play, 
True  wisdom  will  attend  your  feeble  call, 
And  grace  your  actions,  ere  the  curtain  fall. 
Souls  that  have  long  despised  their  heavenly  birth, 
Their  wishes  all  impregnated  with  earth — 
For  three-score  years  employed  with  ceaseless  care 
In  catching  smoke  and  feeding  upon  air — 
Conversant  only  with  the  ways  of  men, 
Rarely  redeem  the  short  remaining  ten." 

If  they  do,  what  remains  is  only  like  scattered  freight 
picked  from  a  wreck,  the  poor  sad  memorials  of  life's  great 
disaster,  full  of  tears  and  vain  regrets.  Will  you  take 
them  as  your  sum  of  life  ? 


XLL 

THE  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

•  Making  melody  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord." — EPH.  v.  19. 

A  SHORT  time  since  it  was  my  privilege  to  hear 
some  hundreds  of  children  sing.  With  life  and 
spirit  they  sang  the  "  Forward,  march  1"  and  in  mellower 
tone  and  with  sweeter  pathos,  "  There's  a  light  in  the 
window  for  thee." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  privilege  to  hear  them.  There  was 
a  charm  in  that  multitude  of  young  voices  harmonizing 
together.  I  was  called  upon  to  address  them,  and  I  told 
them,  as  the  most  appropriate  thing  that  came  to  my 
mind,  that  I  wished  they  would  each  make  their  life  a 
song  of  praise,  so  that  their  words,  and  deeds,  and 
thoughts,  and  plans  should  harmonize  together,  and  that 
would  make  the  true  Psalm  of  Life. 

The  Psalm  of  Life !  or  life  a  psalm  of  praise  to  God, 
rendering  to  Him  in  grateful  devotion  the  true  harmony 
of  soul,  of  all  its  faculties,  and  thoughts,  and  acts,  through 
all  the  years  of  probation !  Is  not  this  the  standard,  the 
Divine  standard,  at  which  all  should  aim  ?  Does  it  not 
express  that  which,  if  realized,  would  answer  for  us  the 
true  end  of  our  being  ?  Does  it  not  answer  to  the  high- 
est and  noblest  ideal  which  the  soul  can  cherish  ?  And 
what  is  sin,  in  all  its  forms,  in  all  its  variety  of  shapes, 
but  just  the  discord  which  disturbs  the  harmony  ;  some- 

(400) 


THE  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 


401 


times  in  a  single  note ;  sometimes  in  whole  stanzas ; 
sometimes  in  the  whole  song  ?  It  puts  others  out.  It 
jars  and  grates,  as  it  were,  on  the  ear.  It  makes  all 
that  hear  it  uncomfortable.  It  destroys  all  harmony. 
It  deals  with  the  music  of  a  holy  life,  or  of  a  pure  so- 
ciety, as  the  earthquake  does  with  a  fair  landscape,  cov- 
ering it  with  confusion  and  rubbish ! 

To  secure  the  true  divine  harmony  in  the  heart,  the 
life  must  be  consistent  with  itself,  the  thoughts  with  the 
words,  the  words  with  the  deeds,  and  all  of  them  with 
one  another,  and  with  the  law  and  will  of  God.  Nothing 
phort  of  this  will  ensure  a  perfect  and  harmonious  life. 

So  to  social  order  and  happiness  it  is  essential  that  the 
views  and  feelings  of  men  should  accord.  Not  that  they 
should  be  precisely  alike  in  faculty,  or  education,  or  ap- 
prehensions of  things.  They  may  differ  here  as  the  dif- 
ferent parts  vary  in  music,  and  yet  there  shall  be,  if  only 
each,  true  to  the  keynote  of  Christian  love,  executes  his 
part,  a  higher  melody. 

But  to  secure  this  result,  each  individual  note  must  be 
correct.  What  if  it  be  a  little  thing.  A  slight  varia- 
tion produces  discord.  And  hence  it  is  that  to  the  gen- 
eral order,  and  harmony,  and  happiness  we  must  train 
each  thought  and  utterance  of  the  individual  soul. 

The  heart  of  man  may  be  compared  to  an  organ,  its 
keys  swept  by  the  fingers  of  each  individual  will.  Some 
with  rude  hands,  finding  it  disordered  and  untuned,  force 
it  to  send  forth  harsh  and  grating  tones.  Some  pour 
forth  from  it  the  anthems  of  praise,  and  some  the  peals 
of  holiday  music,  while  others  make  it  breathe  the 
thunder-gusts  of  passion,  or  roll  to  the  music  of  the 
devil's  march.  .» 

Where  the  thoughts  and  words  do  not  accord,  you  have 


402 


LIFE  LESSONS. 


the  incarnate  discord  of  the  deceiver  and  the  hypocrite. 
When  a  man  means  one  thing  and  says  another,  there  is 
an  incongruity  that  arrests  attention  and  invites  criti- 
cism. You  can  put  no  faith  in  him.  You  may  pity,  but 
you  despise  him.  His  own  soul  jars  within  itself. 

When  the  words  and  deeds  do  not  accord,  there  you 
have  the  discord  of  false  professions  and  false  promises. 
A  man  says  one  thing  and  does  another.  He  speaks  fair 
and  acts  foul.  He  puts  on  the  sacred  mantle  of  truth  in 
order  to  deceive  and  betray.  Or  he  is  simply  reckless 
of  truth,  and  feels  no  longer  bound  by  promises.  Such  a 
man  is  discord  incarnate  in  the  knave,  the  cheat,  the  in- 
triguer, the  liar.  His  presence  in  society  is  a  constant 
jar,  and  he  has  no  peace  within  his  own  soul — no  music 
there.  There  can  be  no  melody  in  the  heart. 

But  more  than  this,  a  man's  aims  ought  to  harmonize 
with  one  another,  or  he  will  have  the  discord  of  restless- 
ness and  discontent!  Some  men  would  have  objects 
which  they  cannot  attain  at  once.  They  are  like  chil- 
dren that  want  to  keep  the  orange  and  eat  it  at  the  same 
time.  They  want  wealth,  and  yet  do  not  want  to  toil  for 
it.  They  want  honor  and  respect,  and  the  reputation  of 
usefulness,  and  yet  they  want  ease  and  indolence.  Some 
would  be  at  once  patrons  of  incongruous  things.  They 
aim  at  forbidden  fruit,  and  yet  would  retain  an  honest 
purpose.  Their  life  is  a  perpetual  discord,  disquieting 
themselves  and  others  at  the  same  time. 

In  order  to  harmony,  life  must  have  one  grand  aim, 
which  shall  act  as  leader,  and  with  which  all  others  as 
subordinate  shall  accord.  Else  it  will  be  a  Babel  of  in- 
congruous sounds.  It  will  be  like  a  mob  instead  of  an 
army,  without  an  acknowledged  commander.  There  will 
be  no  order,  no  music  in  it.  Who  can  doubt — who  that 


THE  PSALU  OF  LIFE.  403 

can  answer  the  first  question,  What  is  the  chief  end  of 
inaa  ?  —what  that  leading  aim  that  is  to  control  all 
others  should  be  ? 

But  the  life,  also,  should  be  one  consistent  whole. 
Every  added  year,  and  day,  like  a  new  stanza,  should  be 
set  to  the  same  music.  It  is  certainly  well  for  a  bad 
man  to  become  good,  but  it  is  better  that  there  should 
be  no  need  of  change.  What  a  terrible  sentence  that 
is,  "  His  bones  are  full  of  the  sins  of  his  youth."  And 
yet  how  often  it  is  true  1  Those  early  years  were  a  wild, 
mad  glee.  The  later  ones  are  a  saddened  dirge.  Some- 
times a  man  is  lured  by  one  thing,  and  sometimes  by 
another.  Now  he  would  be  a  Pharaoh,  and  now  a  saint ; 
now  a  Solomon,  and  now  a  hermit ;  now  a  hero,  and 
now  a  pleasure-seeker.  Now  he  would  pray,  and  again 
he  would  swear.  Now  he  would  be  a  reformer,  a  stern 
censor  of  morals,  and  again  he  would  plead  the  cause  of 
immorality  and  license.  He  would  praise  truth,  and  yet 
betray  her  ;  commend  honesty,  yet  cheat  himself ;  extol 
religion,  yet  trample  it  under  foot.  This  is  to  make  life 
a  discord,  a  Babel,  a  Bedlam  ;  to  shut  up  together  in  the 
same  limits  the  lamb  and  the  wolf,  the  dove  and  the  vul- 
ture, the  deer  and  the  tiger. 

There  are  some  lives  that  are  like  a  combination  of 
acid  and  alkali.  The  diverse  elements  neutralize  one 
another.  There  are  principle  and  passion,  generosity 
arid  revenge,  pity  and  rage,  kindly  sympathies  and  miser 
lusts.  There  are  some  whose  incongruous  views  and 
sell  ernes  remind  us  of  the  toes  of  the  golden-headed  im- 
age of  prophetic  vision — a  mixture  of  iron  and  of  miry 
clay.  They  build,  perhaps,  on  the  rock,  but  with  hay, 
wood,  stubble.  Their  life  is  a  disjointed  affair,  a  mass 
of  fragments,  a  heap  of  commingled  lumber  and  brush- 


404  LIFE  LESSONS. 

wood,  put  into  shape.  They  have  pursued  one  thing  and 
then  another,  never  satisfied,  never  reaching  any  thing, 
mixing  up,  in  fact,  snatches  of  scores  of  songs  with  an 
incongruity  that  would  be  ludicrous  if  it  was  not  so 
disastrous. 

But  the  true  life  is  that  which  will  harmonize  in  all  its 
parts,  so  that,  as  timber  fits  to  timber,  deed  will  fit  to 
deed  and  aim  to  aim,  to  complete  one  perfect  whole,  and 
like  the  varied  notes  of  music,  each  shall  have  its  place 
and  contribute  to  the  melody.  Is  not  this  the  just 
ideal ? 

Yet  the  life  may  be  consistent  in  itself  and  yet  not  in 
harmony  with  the  will  and  providence  of  God.  But  this 
also  is  essential.  Men  like  to  be  able  to  put  forth  the 
claim  to  consistency ;  but  there  may  be  an  unholy  as  well 
as  a  holy  consistency.  A  desperately  wicked  man  will 
naturally  be  regarded  as  more  consistent  than  one  just 
wavering  between  good  and  evil.  Satan,  doubtless,  is  a 
model  of  consistency.  Every  added  year  of  wickedness, 
like  an  iron  harrow  dragged  over  a  field,  leaves  fewer 
green  things  behind  it  to  check  the  uniform  desolation. 
As  habits  become  more  rigid,  as  the  purposes  become  more 
fixed,  character  approximates  to  the  changeless  features 
of  an  iron  statue,  and  takes  upon  itself  the  immobility  of 
desperation.  Consistency,  merely,  may  be  consistency  in 
evil.  It  may  be  the  harmony  of  sin.  It  may  be  the 
dead  level  of  depravity.  It  may  be  a  uniform  black- 
ness, unbroken  by  a  ray  of  light.  Deed  may  fit  to  deed, 
word  to  word,  thought  to  thought,  and  each  to  the 
other,  so  that  life  shall  be  in  warp  and  woof  one  uninter- 
rupted, seamless  cerement  of  sin  and  death.  There  shall 
be  no  broken  thread  of  penitence,  no  gentle  shade  of 
pity,  no  brightness  of  hope. 


THE  PSALM  OF  LIFE.  405 

A  man  may  thus  be  in  awful  consistency  with  himself, 
but  in  discord  with  God  and  truth,  and  the  laws  of  holi- 
ness and  heaven.  He  may  come  into  perpetual  collision 
with  these,  and  be  in  conflict  with  all  with  which  he 
should  harmonize.  The  whole  realm  of  God's  providential 
government,  is  to  the  thoughtful  ear  an  immense  organ, 
ever  pealing  forth  in  thunder-tones  the  law  of  Sinai,  the 
notes  of  holiness,  always  proclaiming,  "  the  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard,"  and  in  its  undertones  you  may  hear 
the  echoes  of  the  approaching  judgment.  A  life  that  is 
not  holy  and  godly  jars  with  these.  In  plain  words,  the 
harmony  of  life  requires,  that  it  should  fit  into  the  Divine 
system — demands  that  it  shall  not  run  athwart  the  laws 
of  eternal  truth  and  justice.  If  it  does  so,  in  ever  so 
small  a  matter,  it  breaks  in  upon  the  holy  order  of  God's 
government,  it  grates  in  the  universal  anthem  that  goes 
up  to  heaven  from  the  Creator's  works. 

We  see,  then,  that  there  can  be  no  perfect  melody  in 
the  heart  while  sin  is  there.  If  word  is  discordant  with 
word,  or  deed  with  deed,  or  thought  with  thought ;  if 
one  speaks  what  he  does  not  mean,  or  professes  what  he 
does  not  practice,  or  promises  what  he  does  not  fulfill ; 
if  the  elements  of  his  moral  being  are  at  war  with  one 
another,  the  passions  with  the  reason,  the  appetites  with 
the  conscience  ;  if,  in  a  word,  the  psalm  of  life  has  not 
been  tuned  to  the  key-note  of  the  Gospel ;  if  our  uniform 
and  practical  purpose  of  consecration  to  God  does  not 
bear  down  all  before  it ;  if  the  aims  and  aspirations  of 
the  soul  do  not  all  accord  in  "  glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men/7  there  can  be  no  proper 
melody  in  the  heart  nor  the  soul. 

But  let  this  be  the  case,  and  that  melody  is  the  legiti- 
mate and  necessary  result.  Let  the  soul,  by  nature  at 


406  LIFE  LESSONS. 

discord  with  itself,  with  conscience,  with  its  condition, 
with  the  laws  of  holiness  and  God,  be  converted,  so  that 
selfish  will  is  subdued,  so  that  sin  is  abandoned,  so  that 
God  is  loved,  and  His  law  becomes  a  delight ;  let  the 
soul,  purified  by  the  power  of  atoning  blood,  and  at- 
tuned to  the  praise  of  Divine  Grace,  be  brought  to  feel 
that  there  is  no  condemnation  to  them  that  are  in  Christ 
Jesus,  that  walk  not  after  the  flesh  but  after  the  Spirit," 
and  then,  instead  of  a  cage  of  tigers  and  screech-owls, 
it  shall  be  the  orchestra  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  where  all 
the  faculties  and  affections  of  the  soul  shall  unite  in  the 
chorus  of  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord."  The  grace  of  God 
shall  breathe  through  it,  and  wake  from  its  trembling 
strings  a  music  beyond  that  of  JMian  harps.  There 
will  be  a  sweet  concert  of  thought  and  deed  ;  an  unmur- 
muring submission  to  God's  providence  ;  a  holy  joy  in 
doing  His  will ;  and  those  outpourings  of  Christian  love, 
in  kindly  and  charitable  purpose,  which  are  the  very 
music  to  which  God's  ministering  angels,  on  their  earth- 
ward mission,  clap  their  joyous  wings. 

A  holy  life  is  more  than  a  Beethoven's  strains  or  a 
Handel's  "Messiah."  There  is  a  glorious  music  in  it 
unmatched  by  the  masters  of  human  song.  The  noted 
organ  of  Freiberg  is  said  to  transport  the  listener  and 
make  him  forget  all  else  while  he  listens — now  to  the 
roar  of  the  cataract,  and  now  to  the  thunder-peal  of  the 
storm,  and  again  to  the  rippling  music  of  the  waves  as  they 
die  away  upon  the  strand.  But  that  organ  of  the  human 
soul  which  can  pour  forth  the  trumpet  song  of  Miriam, 
or  the  lyrics  of  David,  or  breathe  forth  the  loving 
words  of  the  Patmos  exile,  or  the  heavenward  aspira- 
tions of  the  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles  ;  which  finds  expres- 
sion in  the  meekness  of  Moses,  or  the  devotion  of  Isaiah, 


THE  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 


407 


or  the  heroism  of  Judson,  or  the  fervor  of  Baxter,  or  the 
humanity  of  a  Nightingale,  a  Dix  or  a  Howard — this 
organ  of  the  human  soul,  its  keys  touched  by  the  fingers 
of  the  Divine  Spirit,  its  music  the  chants  and  anthems 
of  heaven  itself,  its  harmony,  sweeter  than  sweetest  in- 
cense, ascending  to  the  listening  ear  of  the  Lord  God  of 
Hosts,  is  more  wonderful  than  any  whose  keys  have  been 
shaped  by  human  fingers,  more  glorious  than  any  that 
far-famed  minster  or  cathedral  can  boast. 

And  yet  in  the  lowliest  lot,  and  by  the  humblest  fire- 
side, where  the  luxuries  of  earthly  music  are  unknown, 
there  may  be  such  outbreathing  of  sweet  content  and 
gentle  charity  as  shall  make  the  loss  of  other  music  un- 
felt,  and  shall  invite  the  ear  of  angels  to  listen  to  the 
song ;  for  there  are  deeds,  and  affections,  and  heaven- 
ward aspirations  too  grand  for  note-book  or  organ  peal — 
a  music  of  life  infinitely  above  the  reach  of  the  highest 
art.  If  God  Himself  dwells  within  the  soul,  it  shall  be 
full  of  heaven,  and  heaven  is  more  than  music. 

"  A  life  of  duty  lends  to  all  it  sees 

The  beauty  of  its  thought ; 
And  fairest  forms  and  sweetest  harmonies 

Make  glad  its  way  unsought. 
In  sweet  accordancy  of  prayer  and  praise 

The  singing  waters  run  ; 
And  sunset  mountains  wear  in  light  above 

The  smile  of  duty  done. 
Sure  stands  the  promise ;  ever  to  the  meek 

A  heritage  is  given  ; 
Nor  lose  they  earth  who  single-hearted  seek 

The  heritage  of  heaven." 


